


A Thousand Suns

by Courtanie



Category: South Park
Genre: Abduction, Blackmail, Dystopia, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Graphic Description, Killing, War, Weapons, non-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4487943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courtanie/pseuds/Courtanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When South Park is thrown into turmoil after all the adults are killed off and they're walled off from the world, a resistance group takes up the task to plan to get the remaining kids out of dodge. When it falls onto one of them to make the choice between their town and the lives of others, the time for plans has passed; it's time to take their captors down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off of the Linkin Park album 'A Thousand Suns'. Not so much a songfic but more of an 'inspired by'. Every chapter coordinates with the subsequent song on the album.

Where once was nothing but a small simple town now laid ruins spread across the cracked, barren land. Buildings showed signs of decay, pieces of brick and plaster laid in the streets, unattended to and forgotten.

Heavy, thick smog coated over the town, keeping it in a threshold of darkness and an overlying feeling of complete despair and desolation.

Where once was a bustling supermarket, a lively pond in the park, a basketball court full of children laughing and playing now remained completely silent; the air stoic to the effect of death. Occasional birds chirping through the air echoed throughout these areas, emphasizing the lack of human interaction.

It was scary. It was quiet. But to those who remained, it was still home.

Only three years had passed in the time that it took for the city to fall into shambles. Three years ago, one week's span of time.

No one knew what had happened still; how all the adults suddenly fell ill or found themselves murdered. There was no doubt that someone somewhere was behind it. Bodies lied in the street like speed bumps merely marking the pavement towards the innermost city. Shadows loomed off their decaying bodies in the setting sun, patches of souls smeared over the blacktop from their chilled corpses.

No one knew why or how. Young children found their parents lying at the bottom of the steps, either completely free of any signs of real harm or their throats completely severed open, dark rivers of ruby staining their once-proud homes.

Police were notified, they let it be known. However, unfortunately for them, they were adults as well and they soon found themselves on the victim's end of the butcher knife. It wasn't long before the slate was completely wiped, the last remaining adult managing to contact the National Guard before he himself was slain at the hands of the unknown.

So it led onto nights and nights of cold loneliness for those children left behind. Anyone over eighteen was dead and gone; leaving children to fend for themselves, for those children to take the hands of the infants and find themselves becoming adults themselves.

They all promised that they would stay together no matter what happened, they all said that they wee still a town; still a family.

However, as a special sanction of the guard came in, their family soon found itself lying in ruins similar to the town. As a large memorial service for those lost in the conflict ended, so did the feeling of completeness that the children felt as they clung to each other in comfort, in hope.

Those five and under were taken away from the city in large, gray vans, appropriately nicknamed the Death Vans by the remainder. No one knew what they did with those children. They could only hope that the babies, the toddlers, that they were sent to another town to find new homes and lives. But the glitter of challenge and joy sent throughout each of the soldiers' eyes were not one to find comfort in. They learned to fear that gleam, they learned to fear those men.

Not a week after they were brought in, the children found themselves being led into the innermost part of the city, completely leaving their homes in the outlying suburbs. They were forced into warehouses and makeshift shacks that the government built for them in merely hours.

Terrorism was a common word spat at them as they were stripped of their homes and their pets and their overall lives. The government thought they were evil, that it was a town conspiracy. But none of those kids would budge. None of them would step up and say that they had any information other than what they had seen.

They saw their parents dead. That was their story, filled with tears of anger, sorrow, and hatred towards the men questioning each and every one of them. That was their story and nothing more.

After questioning them all, their town became sanctioned. A large, stone blockade was built around their small little city. Keeping them in, keeping their existence a secret. It was the topic that brought in many a news story, but after the fifth one was shot down by the soldiers surrounding the children, the stories stopped. The protests came to a grinding halt. They were all but forgotten in less than two months, nothing but a mystery to the rest of the world, led off from main highways by false detour signs claiming that their was nothing more than a mountain that existed in that once-news worthy town.

The children became afraid, wary of their "protectors" as the government had so boldly proclaimed themselves as. They knew that something was definitely amiss in their town, whether it was a murderer still on the loose in the midst of them or if it was merely the government taking advantage of how weak and defenseless they were.

But they were children that had grown up in this town, and they knew how things tended to run their course.

Things would happen, lessons would be learned, and then everything would be back to normal in just a short matter of time. They could all sense, however, that this time was different. This time, they wouldn't be able to fall back into their monotonous routines at the nights end. They knew deep in their hearts that nothing could ever be the same again.

But still, they kept hope. It was the way they were raised by the parents, the uncles and aunts, the grandparents and the teachers that they had so tragically lost to the hands of some unknown force determined to make sure that the slate of the town was clean and pure of adult tyranny.

However, now a new adult force was forcing them to bow to their whims, despite all their claims of wanting nothing more to do than to make them happy and safe once again.

They didn't believe them. They believed in each other. It was the stature of that town. To stay together no matter what got in the way.

It was once proud. It was once gleaming with life. It was still a home. It was still South Park.


	2. The Radiance

Only a year passed of sitting and waiting for new news to arise. Such a long amount of time to be without your family, such a short amount of time to come across something so terrible and horrifying to young minds.

It came without warning, nothing but a large bang in the dead of the dawn as the sky bled pink and red into the rich ground. Heads turned, eyes widened. They knew that sound from the inner depths of their childhood. It was unmistakable.

A gunshot.

Few ran to see what the noise was about. They were too afraid that the murderer was back for them. Too terrified that things were going horribly wrong.

As the others who ran to see what the commotion was, they could tell those others how very right they were. They ran into a body lying still in the middle of the road. One of the leaders of their group shakily knelt down, turning the body over to see just who it was. From what the others whom lingered behind, the crutches left splattered with blood beside him left no doubt as to who it was.

"Shit," one of them muttered as he brushed bloodied brunette hair back from his forehead. "Jimmy. Jimmy? Wake up, Man," he'd insisted, shaking his shoulder roughly. His eyes fell to the wound on the side of his head and he knew that it was a fruitless endeavor.

"Who...who would kill Jimmy?" one stepped forward beside him, a worried glaze overshadowing his solemn green eyes.

"I don't know, Kyle," he'd muttered, getting to his feet. They heard laughter not too far away and all of them looked over to see a group of five or six soldiers laughing, a gun held in the hand of one in the forefront.

Their shocked gazes quickly melted into fury.

"HEY!" Kyle shouted, stepping towards the men.

"Kyle, stop," the other grabbed his arm.

"No, Stan," he spat, quickly swiveling his head back to face the others. "The fuck are you doing?!" he screamed.

"Kid was in the way," the soldier at the front smirked, twirling his gun in his hand. "He was blocking the view."

"The fuck gives you a right to kill anyone?! Especially a handicapped person you assholes!"

"Kyle, stop!" Stan repeated, starting to drag him backwards. Kyle ignored him, managing to shake his arm out of Stan's deathly-afraid grasp. All of the group looking at the soldiers knew the looks in their eyes. This was their idea of fun. Things were going to spiral out of control and they all knew it.

"That's right, Kyle, better run along," one of the soldiers chuckled.

Kyle let out a furious growl through bared teeth, his eyes spiking with the need to do something, to taste blood for their sin.

"Kid, come on," one of the elder kids walked up and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We need to get out of here."

"But...but they killed Jimmy!" he exclaimed, gesturing frantically to the boy's limp corpse. "We can't let them do that!"

"We don't have a choice, Kyle," he said with a firm gaze. "Now come on."

"Trent, they're fucking-"

"I said _now_ ," he said, a hint of anger in his gaze. Kyle fell short. A part of him in the back of his mind couldn't help but still be afraid of Trent Boyett in some way. Their history was long gone and passed with the loss of the parents and he'd become one of the kids to take lead, so he trusted him to an extent. But that didn't stop his inner anger and need to fight from emerging.

"But-"

"NOW, Kyle," he hissed, whirling him around and pushing him back towards the group. Another three shots were heard and screams echoed into the street. Both Trent and Kyle fell to the pavement, Trent choking for air and Kyle grabbing at his arm and screeching in pain. Stan dove down beside them both, turning sickly green at the sight of the blood spurting out from between Kyle's fingers and the wounds on Trent's chest and head.

Trent quickly fell still with a shuddery, angry breath as the soldiers just laughed with each other.

"Trent! Shit!" Kyle managed to scream out through a barrage of pained tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

"Come on," Stan shouted to the group. "Move!" he reached down and helped Kyle up, assisting him in running away from the assault.

They ran back towards their home, one of the crummy shacks built in the mess of what was once the town. They busted inside and their group of what was now five slammed the door shut behind them.

One of the older kids stepped up at the sight of Kyle falling down and crying as blood continued pooling down his arm.

"Wendy, get his arm taken care of," he'd said, staring in somewhat of a daze.

She jumped up and grabbed the first aid kit they had in a cupboard running over to him and kneeling down beside him. "It's going to be okay," she cooed as Stan helped tear off his orange jacket. She lifted up his t-shirt sleeve and grimaced. "Oh boy," she muttered. "Stan, knife and alcohol. Now."

"R-right," he'd stuttered, running off to find what she needed. As the group silently watched as she managed to dig the bullet out of Kyle's arm, they knew that this was only the beginning. Jimmy and Trent were going to only be the first of a string of casualties that plagued their town.

"Scott, what the fuck do we do?" the blonde rubbing Kyle's shoulder as he hissed in pain asked.

"Don't know, Ken," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "We're not exactly...ready for this."

"I told you all dzees would 'appen," a voice appeared from the back of the room.

"Don't start, Christophe," Scott glared. "We have enough problems right now."

"Non," he stepped forward, a cigarette clutched lazily between his fingers. "I told you all and you chose to eegnore me."

"Well what exactly do you propose we do since you know so much about this whole thing?" Scott demanded.

"We fight," he shrugged. "Eet would not be 'ard. Dzhey are nodzing but weak lit'le prissy boys."

"With what, you French asshole?" the brunette leaning against the far wall scoffed.

"You stupid fat bastard," he chuckled. "Eet ees simple. We steal weapons and dzhen we fight back."

The group all looked between each other, conflicting gazes clashing with one another. Looks of concern, anger, bloodlust. It all came crashing on top of them in droves. He was right that they needed to fight. But they all knew the cold, hard truth: They were too weak for this. They were fighting the government, an army on their own home territory. This wouldn't end well.

"Tophe, I-I don't think we can," Kyle winced as Wendy bandaged up his arm.

"You took a shot dzrough dze arm," he stared at him with cold, brown eyes. "You can fight."

"Yeah, and Trent and Jimmy took shots through the head and look how wonderfully they're doing!" Stan snapped.

"Jimmy?" Scott blinked. "If they're willing to take out him of all people then...well the rest of us are fucked."

This thought lingered in the air for a few moments before Christophe sighed. "Look, we do not 'ave much time," he stated. "Dzey weell be coming for us. Obviously dzey 'ave abandoned dzeir mission of euhh what deed zhey call eet? 'Protection?'" he rolled his eyes.

A moment of silence passed between them all before Scott looked at them all tiredly. "He's right, you know," he said. "We've been stuck like this for a year and yet they still haven't managed to do anything as to their investigation or any shit."

"This is suicide," Stan shook his head.

"Better than being murdered," Kyle muttered, getting to his feet as Wendy sealed off his bandaging. "I'm with Christophe. We may not be able to do a lot, but there's a lot of us in this town still. We could start a rebellion and fucking get back at those bastards."

"Yeah!" Kenny stood up beside him. "I'm sick of living like this."

"Kinny, you poor piece of shit, you've always lived like this," the brunette stepped forward and sneered.

"Shut up, Cartman," he glared before looking up at Scott. "What should we do?"

Scott looked between them all and took a deep breath as his eyes landed on Christophe. "Gather up all the kids you can. We're going to start this rebellion."

That was two years ago. Two years of blood and guts, of fighting for what they believed was right as they always had even before these times.

However, not everyone was as into the battle as they had previously hoped. With the fighting came the loss of a full generation, the 'elders' as they had been proclaimed by the others. With their deaths came the foreseeable retreat of the younger generations, leaving but a few stragglers and a rather small rebellion group harboring in a small hidden cellar dug out by Christophe.

A group of only about fifteen kids. Fifteen kids who were just then stepping into the world of adulthood at ages 18 and 19, those who had been promoted to being those known as the elders through terrible means. Christophe had stepped up into Scott's place as they'd lost him. He'd proven to be nothing but ruthless when it came to fighting the opposition. As a trained marksman, it wasn't exactly a surprise to the rest of the team how cruel he could be when it came down to it.

He'd placed himself, Stan, Kenny, Craig, Token, and Clyde on the front lines at all times. Kyle and Cartman were for the most part with them on the field. However, Kyle was in charge of Intel with Gregory and his little brother, who was one of the only ones of the younger kids to stay in with the rebellion. Cartman, Tweek, and Butters were in charge of making sure supplies were regularly snuck into their base for them to be able to continue their fight. Wendy, Bebe, and Rebecca were always on standby as the nurses of their group.

Other than that, they were alone.

A group of poor kids facing down an entire army with nothing but the weapons that they could find or make themselves. They found themselves on more than one occasion in a corner, only able to get out by a slight hair of a chance.

The government found them to be only a sliver of a threat. A bunch of kids that were too into their own dreams of escaping the damnable wall that surrounded them to stop them from killing men to get what they wanted. However, they saw them as small enough of a group that they had no real intentions of going after them. They knew that they didn't need to, because it never failed that the boys would come to them first.

They knew that they were basically running a kamikaze organization, one that put itself into the line of fire far too often with far too many unsatisfying results.

But it was all that they had anymore. The birds that flew over the wall reminded them that there was a world outside of what they had come to have to know and survive in. There wasn't going to be another chance to get out, they knew that the government wouldn't be making any progress with whatever they were even fighting for anymore.

Over time, they had all forgotten why they were there in the first place. The wall became the only thing that they knew, the one thing that they hated and wanted out of their way so they could become free as they had once been. The government loved fighting them, loved to show them just who was running that town. The rebellion loved showing them that they weren't just a bunch of drones and target practice for them to be beating down, that they had a purpose and they weren't going to stop until they achieved what they were there for.

It was a mess of blood and spit, nothing more than gunfire and smoke that settled around the city like a thick, arid cloud of filth. It was nothing more than fighting with only the cause of freedom on one side, the other nothing more than wanting to watch the other side fall.

No one knew who was right and who was wrong anymore. All they knew was that they had to fight. They were locked in a match for their lives, and over time, they knew that it would eventually find its purpose once more through the bloodshot eyes of that last shooter, who made everything finally come to its standstill.


	3. Burning in the Skies

Kyle and Gregory stood at the back of the room, hovered over their makeshift planked desk. A simple drawing lied on top of it, an elementary at best blueprint of the town that Kyle had designed during three solitary scouting runs. Kyle was by no means an artist but when it came to a photographic memory of the enemy, he was their man. Each government station was carefully laid out into square miles along the map as Gregory's finger carefully followed the road that surrounded the town.

"What if we attack here?" he questioned, his hazel eyes fleeting between the paper and the redhead next to him. Kyle followed his finger and he shook his head.

"No. They have roughly twenty people stationed there now. If we'd gone for there about three months ago, we might have stood a chance."

"Why did they increase their force?" Stan asked from across the room.

Kyle glanced at him, a somber glaze over his tired eyes. "A kid about ten years old was caught trying to sneak out that way. They killed her and put more people over there."

"How the hell did you know that?" Cartman scoffed.

"Because I watched it happen, you fatass," Kyle seethed. Regardless of what was now what should be the only problem occupying their lives, Cartman and Kyle could never seem to fall out of their tentative hatred of each other. Each mission was in danger of the two of them compromising it with their insistent arguments and the entire team knew it. They made sure to keep the two of them on opposite ends of the line at each chance they had.

Cartman could be heard muttering his routine "stupid Jew" but it went unheeded as Kyle returned his attention back to the map at hand.

"Okay," he took a deep breath. "It's been roughly...three weeks since our last raid, correct?"

"Oui," Christophe piqued in from beside of Gregory as he walked up to the two of them. "Two and seex days to be exact."

"All right," he nodded, his finger pointing to a small square in the Northeast section of the town. "There's a small station here where the Rats go in order to leave the wall if they're sent home," he started. His mind wandered on that for a brief moment. Rats. Filthy, disgusting, menacing rats. That's the only thing that the boys could refer to the government as anymore. True scum, good for nothing but pestering the kids of the town and making their life a dirty, degrading Hell. Crawling through the sewage that was once their town, once their homes. He shook off his thoughts and continued, "This section is only guarded heavily when that time comes. They go through a rotation of soldiers about every four weeks, and the process takes about four days to get men in and to get them out."

"When was the last time that they rotated?" Kenny popped up over Kyle's shoulder and looked down at the map with curious eyes.

"When we were attacking last time," he explained, glancing back and up at him. "That's why the forefront of the section that we attacked was weak at first, because most of their reinforcements were stationed at the rotation."

"Ah," Gregory nodded. "So you think that we should rush the small group that's there now, and just try to run out, yes?"

"Right," Kyle nodded. He looked between the three men surrounding him before looking out onto the others that were sitting along the floor of their base. Each looking more anxious than the last. "Okay guys, here's the deal," he said, standing up straight and running his fingers through his coarse curls. "The Rats are understanding that we're getting smarter, so they're starting to pull in more men to guard the stations that they have that'll get us out of here."

"No, you think so, Jew?" Cartman stood and drawled out, rolling his eyes. "Why the fuck are you on intel if all you're going to do is point out the obvious shi-"

" _Anyway,"_ Kyle interrupted, pursing his lips tightly to restrain himself from going off on the boy. "Truth be told, we're running out of time. They're going to get to the point where they're going to have so many men that they're going to outnumber us four to one at the rate that they seem to be expanding their numbers."

"The reason that they're expanding is only because we're just not able to get the job done," Gregory sighed. "With every attack run that we make, they call on more men saying that we're a viable threat and need more men out here to be able to deal with us."

"And that's why time is of the essence," Kyle said firmly, looking between the kids in front of him with hard-set eyes. "Look, the way I'm figuring it, we have three, maybe four weeks tops to get out of here before we're completely closed in."

"We've been at this for two years though," Wendy spoke up, crossing her arms in thought. "Why are they just now starting to grow?"

"This isn't just now," Kyle explained. "I've been keeping tabs on their numbers as we've been going through our raids. They were a lot more subtle about the expansion beforehand. But now, they know that they're getting large enough that it doesn't really matter if we can calculate how many are going to be where when. They've been growing for about seven months as of now."

"Sounds to me like dzey're geeting afraid," Christophe smirked. "Zhey know zhat we are geeting stronger."

"No," Kyle corrected. "They know that we're getting smarter."

"But they know that we're at a disadvantage," Token spoke up, scratching his head curiously. "Why are they being so precautionary?"

"Because, you idiot, they know that we have the intel that could bring them down," Craig retorted with an eye roll.

Ike nodded, "Kyle was able to track down their weak points and they know that, so they're trying to get stronger to keep us back."

"But if they're getting stronger then why are we trying?!" Clyde interjected, getting to his feet and glaring at the group surrounding the table. "What's even the point if we're not going to get anywhere with this?"

"Shut up, Clyde," Kyle said coldly, glaring at him with stony green eyes. The look was enough to sit Clyde back down and for his mouth to seal itself shut. He knew better than to mess with Kyle anymore. He'd grown just as strong and as sharp as Christophe in the few years they'd been fighting. Pissing him off meant playing Russian Roulette with a very antsy Jew. "Look, even if we can't get out, I have a plan," he stated. His eyes turned to Ike and the boy nodded, grabbing a small silver item out of his pocket and holding it up.

"This is a wire device," he said proudly. "I was able to design it with some of the tech we were able to get from that official's headset we swiped."

"The station that we're going for is only roughly fifty feet away from an entrance to the main discussion room that the Rats use," Kyle stated, his finger automatically pointing it out for Greg and Chris to see. "If one of us is able to get through enough soldiers, there's a window that's always kept slightly open at that room," he smirked. "We just need for one of us to be able to go and plant the device through the sill onto the floor. The wire is small enough that it would be able to stay on the floor unnoticed and the signal that we can pick up with the tech that they so kindly provided us with is strong enough for us to keep taps on them at all times."

Gregory broke into a grin and nodded slowly, "That's perfect. Even if we can't liberate that section-"

"We can see just 'ow zhey plan to set up next," Christophe finished.

"Exactly," Kyle nodded firmly.

"Small problem," Cartman stated, tapping his foot impatiently. "Just who is it that's going to be able to sneak towards the base? They're not exactly going to welcome us over there with fanfare and a crown, hm?"

"Eet should be Stanley," Chris nodded towards the boy sitting on the arm of their rundown couch. "He eez zhe strongest we 'ave."

"No," Kyle shook his head. "As good as Stan is, he isn't fast enough."

Stan nodded in agreement. "If we're going on speed, does that mean you're the one who should, Ky? You're the fastest out of all of us."

Once again, he shook his head. "No, I'm going to be with Christophe leading the diversions that will make way for Ken to plant the device," he glanced back up at the blonde.

"Hey wait, why me?" Kenny pointed to himself and blinked.

"Because you're the second fastest," he explained. "And you're nimble as all hell and we need that in order to plant the wire. All you have to do is run up, toss it in through the window, and back off into the group."

"What if there are Rats _in_ the room?" he questioned.

"One: There won't be. I've noticed that they meet in the afternoon. We're going to attack in the evening when the leaders are all out, I'm assuming they're eating or something," he rolled his eyes. "Two: even if they were there, it's small enough to be tossed in without being noticed. If anything, they'll think it's a piece of shrapnel from one of the grenades or something like that falling off of one of their shoulders. Also, I noticed that the rugs they have in there are thick and gray, so I had Ike wrap the device in the nickel to make it blend in more. It should sink into the rug unnoticed."

"You have time to notice their interior design but not to find the actual way to take them down?" Cartman snapped. "Did you take note of their drapery scheme as well? Maybe we can send them a nice little matching floral arrangement."

"Look, Fatass, you're fucking pushing on my last nerve," Kyle snarled. "Either you're going to fucking listen to the information I have or you can just go ahead and run at them with a gun on your own because as far as I'm concerned, this team is better off without your fat gut bouncing around in front of the enemy like a giant practice target."

"Look at ze bright side," Chris smirked, "he'd make one 'ell of a meat shield."

"Fuck you guys," Cartman glowered.

"Look, can everyone shut up for one moment, please?" Gregory sighed and rubbed his temple tiredly. "This is a good plan. However, we don't know how many we're against."

"I went scouting this morning," Kyle said. "I saw only about ten. I'm guessing that at the most they increased the hold from fifteen to eighteen if they did at all. This is a small station despite the fact that it's outside of the main building."

"Zhey tink we're scared of eet," Chris scoffed.

"Exactly," Kyle agreed. "They don't think that we'd be stupid enough to go up to the main building where so many more of them are stationed. But this is the side of the building. Sneaking past the threshold in the back is going to be simple considering the length of the building. We'll just need to crawl past the shacks and bushes in the main square to avoid them catching sight of us."

"What about the soldiers stationed behind the back of the square? They'll see us crawling from their station." Craig pointed out.

Kyle smirked, "Nature."

"What?"

"If we leave at about five o'clock, the sun is going to be directly angled into their eyes. It'll be easier for us to avoid being caught by them. We're going to be dressed to blend in anyway and if they're wearing sunglasses, it'll only hinder their vision of us further. We can't rely on pure stealth for this, so we need to go according to when the sun is on our side."

"Brilliant," Gregory applauded softly. "If all goes well, this could very much mean that we may be out of here in only a matter of days."

"I hope so," Kenny muttered as Ike handed him the device and he stared at it resting in his palm.

"Well, let's gear up," Stan got to his feet and grabbed his uniform. "We have about an hour, we need to gather up the weapons we'll need."

The others nodded their agreements, splitting to their separate areas of the room and silently suiting up. As confident as the plan sounded, only one thing could rest on their anxious, exhausted minds: The Rats had a knack for ruining every plan that they came up with. They could only hope that this time, they would finally have an exception and after so long, a glimmer of long sought-after hope.

* * *

 

"Stay low and follow me," Christophe hissed as he and the team set out at five sharp. He looked down the line on the ground behind him. Kyle followed by Stan, Kenny, Cartman, Token, Clyde, and Craig bringing up the rear. They each nodded subtly and he sighed, slowly beginning to army crawl his way behind a long row of bushes separating the kids' square and the army base. He licked his lips, a slight hint of dirt brushed along his skin. He could hear the others moving behind him slowly, each of them scraping along the ground precariously. Each set of eyes occasionally glanced to the side, looking at the Rat base hiding at the rear of the town. One notice from them and it could be over. The snipers set up at the base had perfect clearance to go at them should they choose, but once they hit the target, they would have the advantage of trees and a few scarce buildings in their wake.

They continued slithering through the town earning a few strange looks from children before they realized that they were staring at the rebel team and quickly moved along, knowing not to give their locations away. While they all may not be a part of the group, they knew that the bruised kids moving along were their only chance to get the hell out of dodge.

Kyle's keen eyes paced along the ground beside of them. He knew they only had a few meters to go at the rate they were crawling. They all knew that time was of the essence.

Christophe led them off to the side, behind a line of bushes set adjacent to the base camp. Their fingers all dug into the soil beneath them, leaves brushing against their clammy skin. A tension set among the group of them, lips being bit and eyes flittering around like crazy looking for a Rat who may be slightly out of their lines. They made their way to the edge of the brush leading up to mess of trees. One by one, they rolled out from behind the bushes and into the foliage, each taking refuge behind one of the massive evergreens.

Kyle peeked around his tree, his deep green eyes scanning over their target. He held up his fingers for the other, four and then two. Four main guards at the wall, two more at the window that Kenny needed to reach. They all watched as his lips curled back into a snarl, mouthing 'fuck'. It was more than he expected. They were changing the rules on his intel.

He looked at Kenny and nodded, pointing to Token, Clyde, and Craig. He gestured back towards the bushes and they each silently made their way back down into the foliage, making their way back from whence they came. He motioned to Stan and Cartman, instructing them to make their way back into the trees. The two of them were the biggest in the group, they'd need to stay hidden in something more than the thin strip running beside them. Kyle looked at Kenny and the blonde nodded at him solemnly. "Good luck," Kyle mouthed before he and Christophe looked at each other for the briefest of moments before ducking back down and heading after the three Kyle had sent off.

Christophe bit his lip as he and Kyle trudged quickly through the dirt and the sparse grass. They came up to the group and Token subtly waved them along as they were perched in the middle of the line, watching for more Rats. Kyle and Tophe slid through and made their way back to the bend. Christophe's fingers went back and touched his hip for the briefest of moments, making sure that his materials were still situated along his belt. Everything was riding on them, they could both feel the pressure. Despite all the work they'd done, despite how many scouts the two of them had done in groups or solitarily, it never seemed to get easier.

They made their way back over to the end of the line, both of them eyeing the building and licking their lips intensively. "Ready?" Christophe mouthed. Kyle's sharp glance was all he needed for himself to proceed. They both grabbed the materials off their belts, each boy's fingers shaking in the process. They each grabbed a small flask from their hips, slowly and silently screwing off the tops and their noses crinkling at the sudden rush of ignitor fluid invading their nostrils.

They slowly let it dribble onto the dirt and in the leaves, both of them looking up for any signs of a Rat hearing the liquid rushing through onto the ground. A wind picked up, blowing a soft tune and they took their opportunity, quickly emptying their flasks over a good fifteen feet worth of bush. They nodded at each other and slowly began creeping back on their knees away from the brush, their head darting around. Kyle watched as Christophe's fingers began to count down from five. He reached back and grabbed his matches from his belt loop and bit his tongue. They both raised up onto their feet, crouching and holding still, the matches placed on their strikers.

Tophe's fingers hit one and he quickly flicked his wrist, the both of them striking against their boxes and hoping to God that they wouldn't be heard. They threw their flaming sticks into the bushes and quickly retreated behind a mess of trees behind them, not watching as the crackle of fire burst into the air.

The two of them climbed up into a dense pine and watched carefully as the Rats caught sight of the flames, each of them running over. Kyle looked out, motioning for Token, Clyde, and Craig to begin their own fires. They did so, backing up and retreating back into the trees with Stan and Cartman. The five of them slowly wove around trees deeper into the woods, keeping their eyes on the front and watching the Rats disperse from the target.

Kenny and Kyle locked eyes and Kyle pointed to the base and nodded. Kenny quickly dove from behind his lookout, the seven of them watching him closely as he slid on the ground, his eyes worriedly glancing around to see if he'd be intervened. He grabbed the device from under his fingerless glove, clasping it tightly in his hand as he made way to the window. Just as Kyle said, it was slightly opened. He quickly glanced in, seeing the room barren and he tossed the bug through the crack, watching it land on the timber wolf carpet. He began backing up, still watching as the Rats began to bring out hoses and try to calm the fire down.

" _Come on, Ken_ ," Kyle whispered, watching the blonde crawling back towards the trees. His eyes narrowed as Kenny stopped. They all watched as Kenny struggled to move his leg. He was stuck. "Oh fuck!" Kyle panicked softly, moving to head down the tree. Christophe grabbed his arm and held him firm, shaking his head.

"We can't risk you both," he hissed.

Kyle's stomach plummeted as he watched Kenny struggling. The blonde tried desperately to move his leg, caught in the snares of a root jutting up from the ground. Kyle looked at the group in the trees, who were looking back at him with a desperate look over their face. His heart dropped as he motioned for them to head back towards camp. There was nothing they could do, they could only just hope that Ken could get out fast enough.

They each stole one last look at the blonde before beginning to backtrack and head back into the town.

"We 'ave to go," Christophe shook him.

Kyle looked at him before turning back to Kenny, who was snapping roots out of the ground trying like holy Hell to free himself from his imprisonment.

His heart dropped as a Rat shouted "There's a kid over here!"

"Kyle, now!" Tophe demanded. "Zhey 'ave 'im. Zhere's noth'zing we can do."

The redhead nodded and they both flinched as a gunshot ricocheted into the air around them. They looked over, seeing Kenny slumped on the ground, a clear sheen of red coating his blonde hair. The two of them gasped quietly, their fingers digging into the bark beneath them.

Kyle stifled a sob, letting Tophe force him down the trunk of the tree. They both slid down onto the dirt, crouching and making their way through the covering, listening with heavy, angry hearts at the Rats as they laughed about their latest victim.

The air was heavy and filled with smoke, the wind blowing it down towards them as they continued silently leaping around through the woods. Kyle's eyes burned, his throat convulsing with the need to scream in anger and sorrow. It was his fault. He didn't check for any possible problems that Kenny could have going through the thick grass. Any intel could have easily prevented his death. He didn't think about anything but the fucking Rats.

The two of them made their way out of the brush and into the street, looking around for any Rats lurking about. Tophe put his hand on the boy's shoulder, "Eet iz not your fault," he said sternly. Kyle slowly raised his gaze into Christophe's somber brown stare. "You could not 'ave known," he nodded at him.

He shook his head and they began walking back towards camp. He heaved a shuddery breath, allowing a single tear to escape his eye. It'd been so long since he'd cried. Been so long since he'd allowed himself to emote over what was happening. But Kenny was one of his best friends. He couldn't help but feel the weight of Ken's soul crushing his own. "I should have paid more attention to the landscape," he murmured. He looked up into the sky, his eyes watching as smoke billowed against the blue hues and sighed. "I killed Kenny."

"Non," Tophe shook his head. "Eet would 'ave 'appened regardless. Kenny died doing what 'e thought was right."

"But was it?" he asked as they crossed the threshold of what used to be the playground of the elementary school, now nothing more than a barren piece of dirt. "What if I wasn't right? What if this gets us nothing new and Ken died for noth-"

"Stop," he ordered. Kyle looked at him and saw the sorrow and anger behind the mercenary's stare. "Kyle, eet 'appened and zheres nothzing we can do about eet," he said. "Your plan was brilliant, Ken got unlucky. You know zhat 'appens in zis field."

"I know. I just...I wish it wasn't Kenny," he said softly. "It should have been me. Stan was right. I'm the fastest. I should have let Ken go with you instead."

A moment of silence passed between the two of them and Tophe sighed. "Non. You are too valuable to zee team. Ken was a great runner and kept spirits 'igh, but not much else," he shrugged. "You are ze one zat we need zhe most. Zhis operation would 'ave failed years ago 'ad you not became in charge."

Kyle couldn't help but feel sheepish at that. He knew his plans had gotten them out of more than one predicament. But still...their team was small enough as it was. Losing Kenny not only as a friend, but as an asset to the team was something that he didn't want to have to live with. He didn't want the guilt that he knew was going to eat him alive.

Tophe was right, beside him, he was in charge. The two of them ran that group like it was their puppet, every little action having to be cleared and thought out by the two of them. Being in charge, however, was certainly not without its consequences. And the fact that Kyle had screwed up a simple bugging mission and lost them a great fielder was going to cost the team dearly. He looked back into the sky as they worked their way through back towards home. _"_

_I'm so sorry, Kenny,"_ he thought as the smoke billowed upwards still, marring the pure sky, the same blue of Kenny's eyes. Kyle allowed one more tear to cascade down his cheek before he looked straight ahead, his face screwing up in anger. One thought reigned over his mind, almost snapping him out of his trained demeanor:

The Rats _will_ pay.


	4. Empty Spaces

As Christophe and Kyle made their way into the dirt cellar after checking the local for Rats, they were greeted with a somber air about them.

"Ken..." Stan said, more question than statement.

Kyle shook his head slowly. "He got caught. They shot him," he crossed his arms and looked at the ground angrily. Everyone else followed suit, a heavy silence surrounding their claustrophobic environment. "I'm sorry," Kyle looked up again and glanced around at them. "I'm so sorry," he bit his lip.

"Why are you sorry?" Bebe's voice popped up. "Honey, it wasn't your fault."

"Yes, yes it was," he said firmly. "I didn't check the perimeters of the building. Rest assured I will _not_ make that mistake again," he clenched his fists. "We're going to fucking get those bastards for Kenny."

"And just how should we do that?" Gregory asked softly. "We've vowed vengeance for every fallen team member we've had. We've yet to accomplish it."

Christophe stepped up and put a hand on Kyle's trembling shoulder. "Because, Ken would 'ave done everyz'ing eef eet was one of us," he gestured around. "We cannot afford to lose anyone else..." he paused and took a heavy sigh. "Let's just 'ope zhat Ike's bug will work."

Ike stepped up and bit his lip. "There...there may be a problem."

Kyle straightened up, staring at his brother. "What kind, Ike?"

He ran his fingers through his black hair, looking at the ground guiltily. "I...I didn't account for the nickel around the system, Ky. I'm so sorry," he looked up at his older brother with glistening brown eyes. "The signal can't reach us. We have to drop a transmitter in there with it."

Another silence echoed around the room and Stan rubbed his nose with his forefinger and thumb. "Jesus," he muttered. "We burnt up our only diversion."

"We can't even sneak back there," Clyde blinked. "How the hell are we supposed to get back in there?"

"Especially since they'll probably up the guards in that area now," Gregory nodded, stroking his chin and staring at the ground thoughtfully. "Kyle, what do you think we should do?"

All eyes turned onto the redhead and he ground his lip between his teeth. They were right. They'd destroyed the only pieces of hiding and diversion that they could have used. The trees were still there, but that would be their only coverage. It wasn't nearly close enough for one of them to get to the window before being spotted.

"I..." he heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head exhaustively. "I don't know." He walked over to the blueprints still strewn on the table and eyed around the perimeter, his fingers brushing lightly over the exact coordinates of where he watched Kenny being gunned down. His heart thudded heavily, his mind scanning over his options.

"Maybe it's a waste of time," Cartman interjected and they all looked at him. "Maybe we should just drop this plan and work on the next one."

"We're running _out_ of plans, Cartman," Kyle said coldly. "I'm doing my best to work with what we have but so far, Ike's bug is the only thing that can possibly save us."

"And you two Jews fucked it up."

"I'd like to see **you** fucking do something for once, you fat piece of shit!" Ike seethed. Kyle couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride for the boy. He definitely got his short temper rubbed off from his older brother.

"All right, everyone calm down," Wendy held her hands out in front of her. "Look, fighting each other won't get us anywhere."

"God I wish Ken was here to lighten the mood," Token said sadly, leaning against the wall. "He'd know what to say."

Kyle took another wavering breath, his eyes still locked down on his plans. Kenny _would_ know what to say. Maybe back in the day, he could have had something comforting to tell them as well. But everyone knew that his cheery disposition had run off with fighting the Rats. All he could even so much as think about anymore were battle strategies. It was the only thing he was even good at nowadays...

"Solitary run," he said softly.

The others jerked their heads towards him. "What are you talking about?" Christophe raised his brow.

He looked up at him tiredly, "We need to do a solitary run. We can't have any more than one person out on the front lines. This has to be pure stealth at night. Someone has to get into the trees and throw the damn transmitter." He looked over at his brother, "Ike, how big is it?"

Ike took a small device from his pocket, no bigger than a quarter. "This is as small as I could get it to get the signal we need," he said quietly. "Kyle...I'm sorry."

He smirked and ruffled the boy's hair a bit. "Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have a prayer of getting out of here. Don't blame yourself, Ike."

"Yeah, it's Kahl's fault that Kinny died, not yours," Cartman scoffed.

"Cartman, I swear to fucking God-" Stan started.

"No," Kyle held up his hand and stopped him. "He's right. Kenny could have lived had I coordinated everything better. This is my fault, and that's why _I_ will do the run tonight."

Tophe glared at him, "What did I say, Kyle? You are too valuable to zhe team."

"But I'm now the _only_ fast one here," he argued. He gestured around, "Tweek and Butters are almost as fast but they're not trained for this. You and the other fielders have too much muscle and it'll make you more vulnerable to attack. I'm the only one who's lean enough to be able to climb a tree limb without it breaking and be able to hide in it without being spotted."

Stan shook his head, "I don't know, Ky. Losing Ken is hard enough. If we lost you..."

"Then Gregory takes my place," he said firmly, jerking his head over to the blonde. "Guys, I have to. This is the _only_ chance we have. And you all know I'd rather die out there trying to get us out than die in here just waiting for them to take what little we have."

"I do not like zhis," Christophe shook his head. "You are endangering yourself and zhe team if we lose you."

"Well that's just a risk I'm going to have to take, Tophe," he sighed, blowing bangs out of his face. "That's all we do anymore is endanger ourselves. All of this is risky, and we all know it," he looked around at the team's somber faces. "I've done more than my share of solitary runs, you all know that. Otherwise we wouldn't have these," he pointed to his blueprints.

"You aren't going alone," Stan shook his head. "I think you should have two or three of us follow you."

"That increases the risk by a large margin," he quirked his brow. "Too many people means a lot of noise. Remember, this is nighttime. We can't count on a bird or something, and the Rat's conversations tend to dwindle with their numbers. We'd literally be working under the sound of a few crickets if we're lucky."

Tophe looked down at the ground. "Perhaps. Zhere's always zhe chance zhough zhat you need a lookout."

Token nodded, "Someone to signal you like you do us."

Kyle's eyes fled around the surrounding front-liners and he bit his lip. "We can't send Tophe. If there's the slightest possibility that myself and whoever is with me is killed...we can't lose both of us."

"Who's the next most agile?" Craig asked, glancing around.

Kyle raised his hand and pointed at his best friend. "Stan is the only one of the rest of you limber enough to be able to climb in and out of a tree with little effort. The rest of you are stockier than anything which won't serve us well in a stealth mission."

Stan stood from his seat and nodded, "Right. We'll leave whenever you think it's best."

Kyle sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "If my observations are actually fucking _correct_ this time," he seethed, "They usually lower the amount of Rats at about 1:30. It usually drops down to about three standing at that wall by then. They figure we're in bed or whatever I'm supposing."

"Still just think we're children," Gregory sighed and shook his head.

"Zhat gives us an advantage," Tophe replied smartly. "Let zhem zhink zhat eef eet makes eet easier for us."

They all nodded together and Stan sighed. "All right, 1:30 it is. Ky?" The redhead looked up at him tiredly. "Get some rest, Dude. You look exhausted. We can't have you falling asleep on the run."

"He eez right," Tophe agreed. "Geet some rest. We'll wake you at midnight."

Kyle was about to protest before the looks on everyone's face shut him down. "Okay," he nodded. He turned to head towards the little alcove that was his room, his ears perking as footsteps followed him. He turned to see Ike standing and looking at him worriedly.

"Can I talk to you a second?" he asked softly.

Kyle smiled and led him into his bed area, the both of them sitting on Kyle's green blanket on a soiled mattress they'd scavenged from the dumpster. "What's up?" he asked.

Ike looked up at him and shrugged, "Look I know you said it's not my fault but-"

"But nothing, Ike," he interrupted firmly. He sighed, looping his arm around the boy and pulling him against his side. He leaned his head down on his and stroked his arm. "Dude, you didn't account for the nickel, I didn't account for roots. Shit happens in this field, Ike."

"Yeah but...since when do _both_ of us fuck up?" he asked blankly. "I mean...are we slipping? Are we gonna be the ones that bring the team down? Are we-"

"Stop," he couldn't help but laugh a bit. "You're sounding way too much like a Broflovski right now."

"Well that's kind of what we are, you dumbass," he smirked at him.

Kyle returned the expression. Ike was right. They were their parents' children to the core. They were both way too smart for their own goods, way too concerned about everyone else before themselves. "You know," he said softly, looking up at the dirt ceiling above them, held up with dowel rods and branches. "I think Ma and Dad would have told us to calm the fuck down and just try again. That it's okay that we fucked up this one time, so long as it doesn't happen again."

Ike sighed, leaning into his brother's embrace. "Kyle Broflovski watch your language," he mocked their mother. They both snorted a bit and the youngest shook his head after a brief pause. "I miss 'em, Ky."

"Me, too," he mused. "I bet they're watching us. And Ma's yelling at us for not bathing enough or not studying."

"And Dad's sitting up there, reading his paper and just mumbling agreements with her," he chuckled. They were silent for a moment, just enjoying each other's company, more than happy that they still had each other in the midst of it all. Ike knew he owed that all to Kyle, who made damn sure that the Canadian was hidden behind himself at all times to prevent being taken the same way as so many others his age. He broke their silence, "Do...do you think we'll win?" he asked quietly.

Kyle was silent for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah I do." He looked down at him, a rare playful gleam striking through his evermore stoney green eyes. "Those Rat fuckers haven't had the full blast of Broflovski rage. They have no idea what they're in for."

Ike just rolled his eyes bemusedly and swatted Kyle's leg. "Don't let the fatass hear you say that, he'll never shut up about Jews and their 'evil' ways of not dying off."

Kyle snorted and nodded in agreement. "Only if you promise that you stop thinking this is all your fault. Things are getting hectic around here, let's just hope that this is one slip-up that we can actually rectify."

Ike bit his lip, "Just...just be careful tonight, okay? Don't get me wrong, you're annoying as piss, but I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

Kyle smiled and tightened his grip around him. The both of them stared at the ceiling, feeling the stares of their parents through the ground and up into the heavens. The boys knew that they were all each other had. That even if they won, it'd still be all. The thought of the two of them not working side-by-side in this entire operation was unthinkable to the Broflovski boys. Kyle ruffled the boy's hair tiredly and looked at him with soft eyes, "Ditto."


	5. When They Come for Me

The two boys slithering side-by-side in the night had been through everything together in their short eighteen years. Loves, losses, heartaches, battles, and triumphs all. However, the situation that they had been thrown into a few years prior had rocked them to the core, where they found themselves becoming closer to each other than they ever thought possible, regardless of their heightened stance within one another to begin with. They held each other tightly as they watched their family members dropping one by one.

Kyle's mother had been the first to go. Stan remembered with a frightening clarity the complete loss behind his acidic eyes as he attempted a joke about not having to study so much anymore through wavering sobs convulsing through his slender throat.

When Stan's sister went next, Kyle was right there beside him, listening to him begging Shelly to come and punch him in the face and call him a turd just one more time. How he promised he'd let her watch her shows without being a dick about it. He promised her his entire world as he sobbed desperately into Kyle's shoulder.

As everything around them fell apart, their friendship seemed to be the only thing that remained in their lives. They knew that losing each other would be the end-all to either one of them, so an unspoken pact was forged between them: Protect the other with your life. If they saw a gun being raised to one, they would jump in the path. The thought of losing one another was something that was never spoken of between them, but in the bare comforts of their separate alcoves at base, it never stopped circulating their minds.

Kyle knew that Stan was a frontman. He was always straight in the path of attack. His life was almost always waiting to be cut as simply as Damocles' Sword. It terrified the redhead beyond all measure, but he knew that it had to be done. It never stopped him from trying like hell to keep Stan towards the back of the assault, however. Were it not for Christophe calling shots on the battlefield, he'd probably never let Stan out of base were it up to him.

Stan had similar concerns, he knew that the enemy knew who Kyle was. They'd seen him on his scouts multiple times, luckily the Jew was far too wiry and nimble to be caught by them. But he knew that the boy next to him was in way over his head. He was always trying to figure it out, always trying to be the voice of reason that brought the team to a head. He'd always been like that, ever since they were children. And Stan took his rightful place beside him, murmuring agreements and aiding him when the team needed talked up out of a bad spot. But the days where the two of them could exit each day with a lesson were long gone and passed.

The lessons of the day were replaced instead by blueprints and weapons. Their dreams of peace amongst themselves and the world were pushed into the back of their minds. The hope was still there, buried under years of plots and strategies in the deeps of their subconscious', but never did they bring it up with one another. The only ones who could break the two of them was each other, and they knew that. So they had to stay strong for each other; not that it was hard. They'd always been each other's rocks, and they never planned to waver from that path.

However, as they crept silently through a large patch of tall grass, both of them covered from head to toe in black scarves and combat uniforms, the thoughts of reaching out and hugging one another and talking through the stress never crossed their minds. What lied in front of them was far too important.

They came to a halt when Kyle placed his hand on Stan's shoulder. His bright hair was smashed down under a heavy scarf, his mouth in the same fashion. However, in the pale moonlight, Stan could still see his steely eyes laced with determination to get his target. There was only one person in the world who could give him that look and flood his worries out of his system, make him feel like they had a fighting chance. He lucked out that that person happened to be his best friend.

"Stay low," Kyle whispered, barely audible over the shuffling of the blades between them in the soft Colorado winds. He jerked his head towards the woods where himself and Christophe had escaped through not seven hours ago. "Don't forget your signal."

Stan nodded, placing his hand on Kyle's on his shoulder. "Be careful."

The next words cut through the both of them like a knife, "If anything happens to me..." Kyle started softly. "You run. You fucking run and get back home, you understand?"

Stan gulped, his silent promises to his best friend flooding over his mind in a vociferous cloud of terror. He squeezed Kyle's hand, biting his lip and nodding again. "Be careful," he repeated. He couldn't think of what else to say. He had a million different speeches of their past clouding his mind, but he couldn't do that to Kyle. He couldn't shake any of the boy's reserve. Regardless of his stoney appearance, Stan knew him better than anyone. He was still that sensitive and terrified of the unpredictable world boy that he'd grown up with. He'd just gotten a lot better at hiding it the past few years.

Kyle gave him the best smile he could, squeezing his shoulder before the both of them broke apart, crawling through the grass and making their ways to their separate pieces of foliage. Stan sped himself as well as he could, trying not to let his weight make the sounds that it so easily could. He knew that Kyle was like a snake, he could sliver through anything without so much as a sweat. Christophe had taught him well in a very short amount of time to be the ultimate stealth of the night. Stan hadn't had such training, he was far too busy teaching himself how to not vomit at the sight of blood and how to work a gun.

He bit his lip, wishing that he had his trusty gun, Sparky, on him right now. One to take out all the Rats where they needed to be. But Kyle told him no, that it made far too much noise. They'd have the entire armada on them in an instant if there were any gunshots echoing throughout the stillness of the night.

Stan knew he was right, Sparky was a powerful friend of his, stolen two years ago by Kyle himself on one of the raids for food and supplies. He'd given it to Stan as an early birthday present, and everyone at home _knew_ never to touch it. That was Stan's pride and joy. A plain, standard M16A4, it was nothing special to anyone but the boy himself. Not only was it his first gun of his own, not only did he have his first kill by him, but it was something that Kyle had given him when lord knows he could have used it himself just as easily. Kyle told him when he handed it over that something about it screamed Stan's name, and the boy was inclined to agree. The way Sparky slipped in his hands, the way the cool steel gripped back onto his palms. It was one of the few times that Stan felt in control, he felt that they would win. The only other moments he got those feelings was watching Kyle formulate his plans. But he knew the redhead was running low on those, luckily, Sparky still had a crate of bullets to keep him sated.

Kyle's eyes darted to and from as he crept through the grass, his back arched, his toes firmly planted as he crouched along. He remembered vaguely how Kenny watched him practice this one day a few years back, how he laughed and said he looked like a cat with a tumor trying to hunt a mouse. However, Kyle was able to prove its effectiveness by successfully stalking Kenny and scaring the piss out of him while he ate on a rock outside their old shack. He remembered that night the both of them laughed until they cried at Kenny's reaction, how the blonde said that no one on Earth could possibly do that as well as Kyle could. Kyle knew that wasn't true, he still was no expert, but he also had a twinge of pride in the knowledge that he was still damn good at what he did. His eyes stung yet again as memories of Kenny raced through his mind. He shook them away, silently promising his friend that he would do nothing but reminisce about him when his mission was accomplished. He couldn't let emotion get in the way. Not this time.

He'd done it once and only once before, nearly a year and a half ago. His worries for Scott on a particularly difficult scout had left him unnerved, unable to cohesively plot out where to go when a rogue Rat stood in their path. He watched Scott die from the bushes where he'd concealed himself. He watched the bullet shot through the boy's skull, splattering the nearly-catatonic boy in fragments of bone and tissue. He had stayed in that spot for hours until the Rats had rotated. Staring at the boy in front of him, watching as skin turned blue, his green eyes unable to tear away from what he had caused.

That night nearly broke him. He considered doing nothing more than running into the line of fire. But Kyle was never a coward. He never let any of his enemies win, and he knew that Scott would have told him to stop being a pussy and keep fighting. So he did. He did for Scott, for his parents, for everyone that he ever came across in his lifetime. It was not an easy task, but he'd built himself up from that terrified young boy in the bushes into a resilient leader. He and Stan worked together on that, pushing each other to the edge of their limits day in and day out, watching each other nearly crumble before standing back up and trying again.

They were all they had. And, if it stayed as such, they knew that they could be content with nothing more than that.

Kyle's hands fumbled into his patch of woods, quietly sneaking through leaves and discarded twigs, trying like hell not to bring attention to himself. He managed to make his way to the forefront elm and took a heavy breath, scaling up the side of it, praying to Moses that his worn and torn boots would have enough tread to keep him afoot. He found himself on a branch pointed directly towards his target. He kept himself against the trunk, hidden beneath the quiet rustle of leaves in his face. Green passed through green as he scanned the area, finding two guards at the wall, his target window clear of any protection. He sighed in relief. As small as Ike's transmitter was, there was no doubt that it'd make some kind of sound if he hit the building or the clear pane. The Rats could easily pass it off as a squirrel or something of the sort if standing as far as they were from it. He reached into his pocket of his thin, black vest and pulled out the device, bobbing his hand up and down as he weighed it.

It wouldn't take much to make it sail through the night. It was no heavier than one of Kyle's old flashdrives he'd used in school. It was getting it through the crack that was going to be his biggest concern. His sharp eyes found his target and a dry tongue passed over his lips. His eyes fleeted over towards Stan's target area, watching for his signal. A part of him hated that Stan had came with him. He would have much preferred doing this alone, the risk of losing his best friend was a lot to bear after he'd already lost one today. But he wasn't stupid, he knew that the suggestion came out of the fact that if he himself was killed, someone needed to report it. In his other solitary scouts, he'd kept a great distance between himself and the Rats, easily able to pass himself off as merely taking a leisurely stroll about town when confronted. But here? Here he was breathing down the enemy's neck. He had no doubts about what would happen should he be caught.

His eyes widened a bit as he watched two small flashes appear from Stan's location, Stan using his knife and catching light off of the building to communicate with the redhead. Two guards at the front of the wall. Excellent. He was working with a much smaller crowd. All he had to do was toss it in, signal back, and they would be home free.

His teeth grated over his lip nervously as his body contorted through the leaves, moving himself as far onto the edge of the branch as he possibly could. His free fingers methodically raised and brushed against the hunting knife on his side. ' _Always make sure you 'ave your weapon before you strike,_ ' Christophe's advice from his training rang through his ears. Not much he could do with a knife compared to the heavy guns perched on the Rats' shoulders, but it was a force of habit at this point. He took a slow, shuddery breath, raising his arm back with the device clasped tightly in his fingerless gloves. His eyes trained and locked on target.

' _One shot. Only one. Make it count.'_

He rushed his arm forward, squinting as his shoulder cracked under the sudden movement, his eyes watching as the device flew from his hand towards the window. He bit his lip, leaning forward as it sailed through the air. His face lightened as he watched it smoothly pass into the small crack of the window, all of a sudden extremely grateful for the competitions he and Kenny used to have at throwing popcorn into each other's mouths in boredom. He couldn't help but smile in relief, moving his hand to grab at his knife to signal Stan back. He paused as he felt a shift beneath him.

"No," he whispered, his eyes widening as his legs tried to silently maneuver him back towards the stronger part of the limb.

Stan watched from the distance with narrowed eyes. Kyle hadn't signaled him yet, he could just barely make out the small form slowly moving back onto the branch. "What are you-" he stopped his quiet questioning short, his eyes widening and his breath hitching in panic as he watched the branch Kyle was situated on snap cleanly and begin falling to the ground.

"NO NO NO!" he whispered desperately, running his fingers through his hair under his scarf in horror. What could he do?! What _should_ he do?!

He watched in a blind panic, his old habit of bile rising beginning to slowly creep up on him as he watched Kyle being surrounded. "Grab him!" he heard from the commotion.

Kyle jumped onto his feet, watching as he was surrounded by the four guards. His mouth fell into a scowl, his teeth bared with unbridled ferocity as he stared each one of them in the face. His hand automatically went down and grabbed his knife out of his side holster, holding it up threateningly. "Try me you fucking cowards," he spat from behind his scarf. He knew he would lose this. But he wasn't about to go down without taking someone with him.

The men around him chuckled, not even bothering to raise their guns to the boy. Kyle knew their reflexes were quick enough they didn't need to stare him down with their weapons. There was no way he could stab all of them before being shot regardless.

Kyle's feet pivoted sharply, daring one of them to make the first move. He was rewarded with such as one of them went to grab at him. His knife flew quickly into the man's throat, cleanly slicing through the soft palpable flesh and tearing out with a sickening squish of blood. He tried moving again before he was snared by two of them, the fourth leaning down and shouting at his fellow rat as he lied beneath them, bleeding out. The Rat's hands went over his comrade's neck, trying to stop the blood flowing out onto the dirt.

A sickening choking filled the air and Kyle paid it no mind, trying to make quick work of the two of them holding him. They grunted, one of them hitting the back of his head. He yelped and his knees buckled slightly before replanting themselves and twisting madly trying to pull away from their strong, callused hands. One of said hands came up and twisted his arm holding his knife back, contorting his spine back with it. Kyle yowled as the pressure continued to increase before his fingers finally let loose the handle, letting the blade and Kyle's only chance fall onto the dirt beneath them.

"Let go of me you fuckers!" he spat.

"Fuck, Charlie's dead!" the Rat helping his fallen friend exclaimed, deep brown eyes raising to meet Kyle's in the dim lights of the building. The both of them stared each other down, Kyle still struggling to get a hold. "Check him," the man breathed angrily.

Kyle felt the scarf being forcefully ripped of his head, yelping as some of his hair got tangled in the attack. Red tresses fell down into his eyes as he continued to snarl at the man in front of him, his breathing coming out in furious hisses between his teeth. The man stared and narrowed his eyes, "That's him." He let loose his hand and slapped Kyle across the face, leaving a clear mark from Charlie's blood across his ivory cheek. It slipped down in droves, leaking off his chin and onto his shoulder.

"Take him to the room, I'll let the boss know we found him," the man huffed, bending down and beginning to pick Charlie's limp body off the ground.

Kyle narrowed his eyes confusedly, beginning to get dragged by the others towards the main building. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his boots trying desperately to keep contact with the ground. The men had to have at least fifty pounds each on him, his sleek form looking nothing short of puny against the towering Rats. "Let me go you fucks!" he screeched. The back part of his mind screamed to look for Stan, to plead for his help. But he knew better, he knew that he couldn't take that chance. He couldn't let Stan get dragged in with him, or worse yet, shot.

His mind flurried in panic over his options, over what was happening. They didn't interrogate, they just shot, no questions asked. What the hell could they possibly want with him? Much less their boss? "Goddammit, I said to let go of me!" he screeched before he found his scarf being shoved down into his mouth, the dirt from his mention drying out his tongue and making him gag uncontrollably. His legs were forcefully kicked out from behind him and the toes of his shoes drug in the dirt while he tried to regain a proper stance.

Stan watched the scene in absolute terror and confusion, unable to will his limbs to begin moving as Kyle had instructed. His mind fleeted to Sparky, wishing like hell that he had him and could snipe those fuckers off from Kyle. What the hell were they taking him for? He was more than aware of the chance of Kyle being shot, but not this. He had no idea how to proceed from here.

He ground his teeth over his lip, his blue eyes scanning around frantically as he watched Kyle being forced into the main building. The night around him fell eerily still, his breath barely making it out through his lips into the air around him. He watched as the Rat saluted his fallen comrade and walked off towards the back of the building with the other slung over his back.

Stan stayed in that tree for quite awhile, watching in shock, letting the pine needles surrounding him brush against his face irritably. His eyes locked again on the door he watched Kyle being dragged through and he let out a long, shuddery breath. Only one word could possibly work its way out with all of the multitude of thoughts circulating through his mind: "Fuck."


	6. Robot Boy

Stan had never ran so fast in his life. Not when he watched Trent getting shot down, not when Shelly caught him reading her diary for blackmail, nothing on earth could have propelled him as quickly towards the base as what he'd just witnessed. He had no idea how the group would proceed, if they even _could_ with Kyle being gone. Gregory wasn't nearly as up-to-date on the Rats as Kyle, and, even though he was a great strategist, there was a reason why the redhead always held the reins.

Worried blue eyes flickered back and forth, looking for Rats as he continued pummeling down dried grass and kicking up copious amounts of dust with his steps. His heart was beating uncontrollably, unable to gather his thoughts into a cohesive line. He was worried sick. Worried about the team, worried about the chances of escaping, and of course the most prominent fact in his mind: His best friend was caught in the Rat's lair. He had no _idea_ what they could want with him, he didn't know why he'd heard one of the Rats say 'that's him'. Had they been targeting Kyle this whole time? Did they know that he was their main source of intel? Maybe they saw him starting the fire earlier that day.

It was all too much. Way too much. He needed the team. They had to rescue him before Kyle was just another casualty to add to the list.

He finally made his way to the camouflaged door of the base, methodically scanning the area for any Rats lurking around who may find them before tearing it open and shutting it behind him, his feet pounding as he rushed down the steep dirt hill into the main room, finding the group staring at him with wide eyes.

Christophe got to his feet and shook his head. "Kyle...iz 'e..." he bit his lip and scanned Stan up and down.

He shook his head and ripped the scarf from off his hair and face, running his fingers through the black locks wildly. "They...they took him!" he shouted, looking at them with tears filling his eyes.

They all jerked back a bit in shock and Clyde stammered out, "T-took him? You mean they didn't-"

"No!" he exclaimed, anxiously pacing the forefront of the small room. "He...The branch snapped and he fell and then the Rats and-"

"Calm down, Stan," Gregory walked up and grabbed him by the shoulders, staring at him with firm hazel eyes. "You need to _slowly_ walk us through what happened."

Wendy came up, pushing Gregory off and gently grasping Stan's arm. He let her lead him to a chair and sat down, slamming his face into his palms. "Oh god they..." his voice cracked and he shook his head slowly. "Kyle oh god..."

"Stanley," Christophe sighed, lighting a cigarette and taking a shaking drag. "What 'appened?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath, looking around the room at the absolutely distraught faces, his own in the same shape. "He...he got the transmitter through the window," he said slowly, remembering with heightened adrenaline watching the glisten of it as it sailed through the crack like Kyle had been _born_ to make it happen. "Then he didn't signal, which you know Ky _never_ forgets," he bit his lip.

"And then...?" Token urged him on.

"So I could see him, right? Just barely, but I could see him trying to move back on the branch as quick as he could...but it just snapped," he sniffled. "It snapped and he fell and the four Rats that were there were right on him, he didn't have time to so much as _think_ of running," he wiped tears from his eyes, dropping his gaze down to the ground.

"Four of them and no one shot him?" Cartman blinked. "The fuck were they doing then?"

"T-they didn't even raise their guns at him!" he raised his arms in exasperation. "And then one of them went to grab him and he slit his throat."

"Atta boy," Tophe muttered, nodding approvingly.

"Yeah but two of them grabbed him and he couldn't get out of it," he said. "And...and the one Rat died and the last one did the weirdest thing," he cocked his brow at them all.

"What?" Craig tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"He said 'check him', and they pulled off his scarf," he held his own in front of him, waving it around like a madman. "Then he said 'that's him' and 'take him to the room I'll tell the boss' or something," he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation at his blurry memory. Too much was happening way too quickly. Kyle always told him that the two of their biggest weaknesses were their emotions. Kyle learned to shove those deep down inside of him to unleash when the time was right, unfortunately, Stan had never quite been able to follow suit.

He looked up to see the team staring at him in complete shock before Christophe grunted, "Zhey were targeting 'im," he shook his head. "Zhey were after 'im and only 'im out of all of us I'm willing to bet."

"But why?" Butters perked up from beside of Cartman. "W-why would they go after Kyle?"

"Because he's our most valuable asset," Gregory sighed.

Stan looked over at Ike, who was staring straight back at him with frightened eyes, the young boy shaking in place. "Ike..." he started.

"They...Ky..." Ike tried to force out before breaking into sobs, placing his hands over his face. Bebe rushed over to his side, cooing at him and rubbing his back. "Oh God not Kyle, not him!" Ike broke out and clasped around Bebe, burying his face in her shoulder.

"Shhhh," she said, stroking his hair. "I gotcha." She looked up at Stan and bit her lip. "Do...do you think they'd..."

"Non," Christophe interjected, ashing his cigarette onto the dirt. "If zhey targeted 'im, it means zhey want some'zhing from 'im. Zhey wouldn't keel 'im," he paused. "At least, not yet." He looked over at Ike who burst out into heavier sobs, looking around at the team with heavy brown eyes. He sighed, walking over and placing his hand on Ike's shoulder. The boy looked up at him with tears streaming down his face and Tophe tried his damnedest to give him a reassuring smile, as far out of his comfort zone as it was. "Zhere zhere," he said. "Your bro'zher iz far too smart to be done in by zhese Rat bastards."

Ike sniffled, breaking off of Bebe and looking up at the mercenary. "It's my fault," he croaked. "If...if I hadn't of-"

"Non," he cut in firmly. "I told your bro'zher zis when we lost Kenny, zees zhings 'appen in zis field. Kyle will be fine," he nodded at him. "And so will you."

"Does that mean we're going to break in and get Kyle back?" Token asked.

"Of course we are!" Stan said, jumping to his feet. "We all know that Kyle would be planning out to rescue any one of us were the circumstances switched!"

Christophe looked around at the team once more and sighed, taking a heavy drag from his cigarette. "I...I do not know if zhat iz our best course of action," he said lowly.

They all blinked at him in shock before Gregory cut in, "He's right, you know. As much as it pains us all to potentially lose Kyle completely...a full frontal break-in of the main building just doesn't seem feasible."

Stan glared at him, his teeth snarling in the midst of bitter tears falling down his dirt-caked cheeks. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?! We need Kyle or this entire team is going to fucking fail! We're _all_ going to die if we don't get him back!"

Gregory and Christophe looked at each other, each with concern and a clash of anger and sorrow on their faces. "How did they know to target him?" Gregory asked softly. "He was always so careful."

"Even if you are careful, you can still be spotted," Tophe answered. "Kyle would not be 'ard to pick out of us," he gestured around the room.

"His hair," Stan said blankly, staring down at the ground. "They had to see his hair to see if it was him."

Christophe nodded, "Exactly. If zhey were able to see zhat he was ze one running our intel from 'is scouts, zhen zhey would 'ave no problem waiting until 'e came close enough to capture."

Tweek bit the heel of his hand and shook his head. "Oh man, and they probably know that he was always out on every mission! They could've been waiting for him this whole time! Jesus!" he hiccuped, curling up on the floor against the wall. "It's all over, Man! We're dead!"

"Calm down, Tweek," Gregory sighed. "Look, getting Kyle back is something that we _all_ want, but I just don't see how it's possible. Maybe...maybe he could have figured something out, but he was much more versed in this than myself," he said guiltily, looking at Kyle's blueprints still strewn about the table beneath him. "He could count off the Rats' numbers off the top of his head, I unfortunately have not done the same amount of work in this matter..." he trailed off and shook his head softly. "I just don't see how we possibly could."

Stan could practically feel his heart break with the words. He knew exactly how things would go down for his kidnapped best friend: Either he would comply with whatever they were after him for and be held hostage until the very end. Or, much more likely considering Kyle's stubborn nature, he'd refuse and be killed just the same as so many before them. "We...we can't lose him," his voice cracked. "Kyle would-"

"Tell you the same fucking thing," Cartman interjected. They all shot their heads over at him as he leaned against the wall with a sneer. "I want you to think about this for a goddamn second, Marsh. Let's say it was..." he looked around the room, "Token who got captured instead? Do you really think that Kahl would be planning to go save his black ass?"

"Yes, he would!" Stan spat. "Kyle knows that _every_ member of this team fucking matters! You saw how he got over us losing Kenny!

"But Kinny was _killed,_ " he reminded him. "If Po'boy got dragged in instead of him, he'd probably be saying it was 'too dangerous' to risk it or some shit!" He glanced around at the team with narrowed eyes. "You **all** know that the only reason this is even being considered is because it's Kahl. If it were anyone else, the matter would be done, we'd take the loss, and just keep on fucking going."

"Zat may be true," Christophe said, gaining a dark glare over his face at the man across from him. "'owever, Kyle iz far too important to ze team to just-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he interrupted angrily. "I forgot! Kahl's the _only_ one who matters, right? After all. It was _him_ that took down that line of Rats a few weeks ago, not Marsh, right? It was _him_ that managed to sneak in all the food we need from their supply tents, not Tweek, Butters, and Kinny! And how could we forget the brilliant bug he built-oh _wait,_ " he rolled his eyes. "Maybe that was his shithead brother instead!"

"Cartman I am fucking warning you..." Stan sneered at him.

"With fucking _what,_ Hippie?" he challenged. "You all are standing around acting like that fucking Jew was the god of the fucking universe! If he was so great, then we'd already be out of here and living somewhere where we're not killed just for the fucking fun of it!"

Christophe threw his smoldering cigarette on the ground and stamped on it angrily with his boot, staring the boy in his eyes, both sets of mocha brown irises clashing against one another in a furious rage. "Let me tell you some'zhing, Fat boy," he hissed. "Were it not for 'zat fucking Jew', you would not even be 'ere to insult him!" he pointed a long finger at him accusingly. "Or 'ave you forgotten zat two years ago, 'e saved your wide ass from the Rats when you got caught getting food for ze team?" he raised his brow.

Cartman just glared at him with an unmoving face, shifting his weight uncomfortably on his feet. Everyone knew that Tophe was right. Had Kyle not been there to distract the Rats by using himself as a target, Cartman would have no doubt been killed right on the spot after sneaking out of the Rats' supply tent. It was perhaps the only moment between the two of them in the midst of the war where they were civil to one another after the fact. Neither spoke of it, but everyone had been told the story by one of the old scouters they used to harbor with them. It was a defining moment for the team, one that they reminded themselves of whenever things got rough or they just wanted to break from the pressure. If Cartman and Kyle could set aside their differences and lay down their lives for one another for their cause, then anybody else in the world could find a way to do the same.

"But, Christophe," Gregory said softly, finally breaking through the tension of the room. "Cartman does have a point. Not saying that Kyle was the most important piece of us, but that we need to know when to take our losses."

"No...no..." Stan shook his head slowly. "No, Kyle is the one person here that we cannot afford to lose!"

"Right," Wendy stood beside him and nodded her head. "He's the only one of us who can even _begin_ to get close to an answer to getting out of here."

"But what if he couldn't?" Clyde asked softly. "You heard him, he said we have three, four weeks tops to get out before we're completely sealed in. He was starting to run out of ideas."

"Maybe...maybe his usefulness finally ran its course in intel," Token added quietly.

"But the Rats sure as hell don't think so!" Stan argued. "Otherwise they wouldn't have taken him hostage!"

"Maybe t-they just want him for ransom," Rebecca suggested timidly. "I-I mean, if they know he's so important..." she trailed off, softly tapping her fingers together and looking off to the side.

Gregory nodded, "That is always a possibility."

"What the fuck do we have that they'd want to trade Kahl for?" Cartman rolled his eyes. "Newsflash, people, we live like the goddamn mole people!"

Christophe scoffed and shook his head at his outburst, "Zhey could easily say if we surrender, zhey'll give us back Kyle un'armed."

Stan's face sunk and he stared at the dirt. "He'd never let that happen, Kyle would rather die first," he said quietly. "Jesus Christ..." he closed his eyes, fighting off more tears threatening to worm their way down his face. His eyes opened a bit as Ike came over and grasped him in a hug, softly returning the embrace. They were together in this. Regardless of how important the rest of them felt Kyle was to just the team, the redhead was both of those boys' entire _world_. They all knew it as they watched the two of them huddled in together in complete loss.

"I highly doubt they would be willing to actually trade him," Craig muttered. "They could have taken any of us for that kind of deal. Hell, they probably would've taken Ken today if that was their idea. But they were looking specifically for him, so they probably want his information on how to wipe us out."

"Kyle would never do that," Ike said firmly. "He'd...he'd..."

"Die first," Token echoed Stan and sighed, rubbing his neck exhaustively. "Guys, I don't know if Kyle will make it out of this one."

The idea shattered around them like a mirror, each shard reflecting every ounce of fear in the team's eyes. Losing two team members in one day was strenuous enough. Losing the top man for plans as one of them was an absolutely devastating blow that they could all feel the residual effects coming down from. Without the plans, they'd have no missions. Without the missions, they'd have no chance.

Christophe sighed again, looking around the room at every face. "We...we should...sleep on it," he said slowly. "We all need to 'ave clear 'eads. And I don't zhink any of us 'ave zat. Everyone iz to go to bed and we will discuss it in ze morning." The team nodded and he looked at them once more. "Each of you must really zhink about it. If ze consensus iz zat we rescue Kyle, zhen we will plan it out. If not, zhen..." he trailed off and sighed. "'e was a fine soldier to work with and we will continue fighting for 'im, oui?"

Each of them slowly and silently made their way down the tight corridor to their own separate alcoves. The sound of old mattresses squeaking as they each sat and stared at the dirt floor filled the claustrophobic environment, tensing them all the more. Only Ike and Stan stayed together, neither of them even needing to ask the question as they both walked into Stan's alcove and sat on the bed, still clinging onto one another. Sleep was the furthest thing from anyone's mind, but they all knew that regardless of whom they lost, the battle was still going to be raging on. The Rats would want nothing more than to break down what little defenses they had, especially knowing that now they held the piece of the puzzle that was working so adamantly on keeping the team afoot.

Stan stared at the edge of his room, eying Sparky propped up in the corner. His lips curled back and he snarled, bringing Ike closer into his side. Nothing but red shot through the boy's deep azure eyes, knowing full and well that Kyle would be shouting at him to keep himself under control were he there with him. But he wasn't. Kyle couldn't be there to keep him in check as he had for so long, Stan knew that this fight was his own now. Whether or not he himself made it through, regardless of whether or not he could pull Kyle from the depths of the thrall, one raging thought was perfectly clear in the boy's devastated mind: He'd get those Rat bastards back.


	7. Jornada Del Muerto

It was no different from any time before. Nothing about the routine had changed, but he couldn't help but feel a wariness as it dripped down upon him. The process always left him winded and feeling a sense of dread before plunging from complete isolation into the blinding lights of reality.

The world seemed to drop from beneath his body, his entire being scaling down into what he could only relate to being a lone astronaut out in the cosmos; floating off into the endless void, never knowing if he'd ever find his way back again.

But Kenny knew. He _always_ found his way home.

His soul was nothing but a speck of dust amid the arid night sky, floating down through the expansion of the world as nothingness. And, he thought, maybe that's what he always had been: Nothingness.

The team had lost him time and again, each day waking up to never know that he'd been missing in the first place. Unfortunately for the teams' sake, they had a tendency to get angry whenever they lost him. They had a habit of losing focus on the main goal, suiting themselves only for vengeance of his loss.

He appreciated the sentiment; he hated the results.

His soul continued to flutter down from the heavens, making its way towards his body down below. He could never see exactly where he was going, always kept in the shadows. But if his past experiences of being shot down by the Rats had taught him anything, he'd wake up in the Body Pit. No one in the team but himself knew of them, hidden well enough that even Kyle had never spotted them on his scouts. The truth was truly just too horrible to let everyone else know about, so Kenny never minded taking the burden of knowledge upon himself.

The Body Pit was where the Rats merely threw their victims into a ditch back behind the main building. It was surrounded by the marked graves of fellow Rats that had fallen in combat with the team. Clean and pristine markers for those who had no home to go to, and, as Kenny had seen, it seemed most if not all of the Rats had nowhere else to go but here. The numbers were massive, and they hid the Body Pit, back towards the back of the area where that fucking wall bordered South Park from the rest of the world. Kenny had counted throughout his various reincarnations, there was usually one standing guard of the cemetery and they were always simple enough to take out if need-be. No one ever expected the dead to be coming for their throat, after all.

Kenny could only hope that he was coming back to his body in the night, where it was easy enough to sneak out through the trees off in the middle of the site, crawling beside the main building and ducking down behind tombstones, weaving his way in and out until he was clear for the woods. It was simple enough, at least, in the night. Too many times had he come back during the day, and one time of getting caught and dying once more was enough to make him learn to stay put until the darkness came back over the town.

Those experiences were always the worst. Spending the day atop of decomposing flesh, the heat from the sun giving off a stench unlike anything anyone had ever smelled. He could barely take it, regardless of how much time he'd spent in the Pit. It was a moldy, clammy stench, one that he felt he could never wash off of himself. He'd learned early on to carry a small tin filled with vapor rub that he'd managed to steal from a store before they were all blockaded. It was cleverly hidden where the Rats wouldn't check to confiscate, sewed sloppily into the inside hip of his pants where it could easily be mistaken for a part of the hard leather logo he'd placed it inside. Very diligently on his unfortunate awakenings in the early morning light, he'd reach down and dip his finger into the small opening he'd left at the top of the branding, genially coating his finger and wiping it across his upper lip before reassuming his position as a corpse. It worked for a few hours, and every time he'd have to replenish was nothing but an adrenaline-fueled risk, but it was better than confronting that pungent aroma for hours on end. It was one that you could _never_ get used to. The rest of the team had come to the conclusion that the smell coming from the region was merely materials that the Rats used and burned to keep their operation going. None of them knew quite what the smell of rotting corpses was, and Kenny hoped that they never would.

He'd seen many a familiar face in the Pit, every now and then dying and waking up beside them once again, seeing that their flesh had began to seep off of their bones. Putrid blackened liquids began to flow out of their mouths and noses, clumping over their splotched skin. Various wounds he found inflicted on others became more prominent: Slashed throats and bullet wounds bloated and covered in maggots and gnats. That same clumpy black excess feeding them, exciting them.

Kenny had once spent an entire day watching a body next to him being devoured by the small beasts. He was disgusted, of course, but more than all else, he was intrigued. Watching them gnaw away silently in droves at the decaying corpse, feeding happily on the spoils of war. It sent him into a deep state of wonder, amazed at how this battle was turning out good for some kind of creature. The thought nearly drove the boy mad as he watched inch by inch of a child's throat becoming more openly visible throughout the day, his spinal cord in full view of Kenny's gaze as the sun finally began to set. How something had managed to turn into a victory for _anything_ in the thrall of all the madness was beyond Kenny's imagination. He spent that day wondering if the team would end up being the corpse in the end of it all or the maggots that feasted upon it.

His soul continued spiraling downwards, heading towards his body lying in the Pit, on top per usual as he was more often than not the only casualty of the day, occasionally he was joined by one or two other misfortunate, but he always prayed that he'd be the only body that would be enough to satisfy the bloodlust of the ever-persistent Rat bastards. He could come back, he knew well enough that the corpses he awoke upon would not.

He floated in a free fall down and down towards the Pit. The speck of dust made contact with the body, the air and blood rushing back through his being. The wound on his head quickly made quick work of itself, his brain spinning back together as though a spider was weaving the web of matter. His skull fragments pieced themselves back into place, tearing themselves out of the brain that they'd flown into and letting the tissue repair itself upon their removal. Any missing fragments were sewn from nothingness, his skin stitching itself back onto itself and his hair popping back through the flesh of his head like grains of wheat popping through the soil.

It was a process that he could never see, though he imagined it to be some glorious sight; one that made someone stop and question everything that they'd ever believed. His soul was kind enough to make sure that he felt nothing before all wounds were healed before slamming down into his chest and letting the oxygen he'd regathered flow freely through his throat and nose. He'd learned quickly that the possibility of himself coughing and giving away his position was always a threat, so he'd shut his lips tightly as soon as the impact of the reincarnation hit him. It was habit at this point, probably one that he would never grow out of should they actually escape in the end.

His lungs began to expand and contract, his muscles tightening and relaxing. His heart was thudding wildly in his chest as he felt the chill air attack him as his nerves began to reignite with feeling. That all-too-familiar smell slammed into his nostrils and he silently groaned, slowly trying to creak open his eyes. His vision was always blurry in the beginning, he'd have to squint and readjust to the sensation once again. His pounding heart settled in the slightest as through his fuzzy vision, he saw nothing but dark and tiny lights above him.

It was nighttime. He would be able to get home.

He slowly worked his eyes all the way open, flittering them around in an attempt to speed up the process. He clenched his fists and reopened them, cringing as he felt his fingers dragging through a child's hair beneath him. It didn't matter though. Getting emotional was strictly out of the question.

He genially made his way up into a sitting position, rolling his shoulders and swaying his back around to loosen himself up from the effects of the rigor mortis. The heat swelled around his muscles, his limbs coming out of a deep sleep and sending painful tingles all throughout his system. He continued working himself back into a movable state, his completely renewed hearing sharp and alert for the sounds of any lurking Rats. He could hear nothing but the soft sound of an owl in the distance and a few crickets off to the side of the Pit. He sighed silently in relief, beginning to twist his body over and starting to slowly crawl through the masses of decaying children around him. He gulped, silently relieved that the Rats had thrown him near the edge of the pit this time, remembering with a shudder all the times he'd woken in the middle and had so much to crawl through before getting to his target.

He bit his lip as he made his way over to the rope ladder that the Rats had made in case they needed to recover a certain body. Why they would need to, Kenny had no idea, but he had no intentions of finding out. He worked his way up the ladder, taking slow, silent steps up the way, clenching his fingers in the dirt behind it to keep himself from swaying and thudding against the wall, making too much of a sound.

He slowly poked his head up, scanning around for his nightly guard. He narrowed his eyes confusedly at the lack of one, turning and looking behind him at the other side of the pit. His answer came with a bit of a start, spotting a dark figure on the grass, a small flag held in his stiffened hands. Kenny couldn't help but smirk. One of them had been taken down. Apparently he didn't have any back-up and the graveyard just wasn't important enough to send someone else to guard it.

Worked for him.

He made his way up onto the grass, silently crawling through the array of headstones towards the main building. He licked over dry lips, his hands feeling the night dew of the grass co-mingling with his sweat. As many times as he'd done this, as many times as he'd easily escaped, it never made it any easier, his mind easily overrun with worry and fear as he slipped in and out of shadows. He made his way to the main building, putting his hand on the cold brick wall and taking a shuddery breath.

Hit the building, turn left, go five stones down, edge up against the building and make sure to bend extra low to avoid the one window in his path, go three more gravestones down to the one that read 'Tom Markson', head back in towards them, and stealthily make his way back to the forest hidden behind a clustered row of the marks. It was the only routine and sure-fire-thing that Ken had been able to find in the whole mess, and he clung onto it with gusto. _Anything_ that seemed ordinary was a welcome change of pace.

His ears perked against the wind, hearing two guards far off and away, probably by the window that he'd thrown the bug into earlier, he surmised. He smirked. The window was far off from where he was going, with the shadows, he could probably just waltz right into the woods. But he knew better, he had to do this correctly.

He crouched down, beginning to crawl towards his target, his head turned towards the graves as he tried reading in the darkness of the night. He ducked his head and body down lower, knowing that the window was right above him, a part of him confused at the fact that the light was turned on for once and the sound of the air conditioning of the room indicating that it was open as well, but he had little time to pay attention to it aside from making himself crawl along slower and quieter. The slightest diversion could be a death trap, that was what they had all come to know and respect from the madness.

As he crept along the building, his attention fully focused on the markers beside him, he never caught the bright gleam of red hair sitting in the room alone bound to a chair, just within his grasp.


	8. Waiting for the End

' _You'd think these fuckers could afford more comfortable chairs,'_ he grimaced as his aching, cold body squirmed atop his confinement. He'd been handcuffed to the chair for hours, having to fall asleep sitting up, waking up every few minutes as his body slumped and sent his heart into an unruly panic. He was just so tired. He couldn't tell what time of day it was, a heavy blindfold secured over his eyes. His entire body felt like ice, his clothing gone sans his boxers as the Rats had stripped him down looking for more weapons. He growled, trying again futilely to relinquish his bound wrists and ankles from their metal hold.

Kyle groaned, sinking down against the chair and directing his blinded eyes towards the ceiling. He hoped that Stan made it out. God he could only _pray_ that he'd been able to run back to base. He never heard a gunshot, but he wasn't entirely sure if the walls of the building had been soundproofed or anything of the sort. He had been secured by more Rats and blindfolded the moment he was brought into the building. He bit his lip, knowing well enough that if Stan got back to the team, they were going to be arguing. Arguing over him, whether or not to rescue him.

He couldn't help but feel torn, he did have a little more bias towards himself. He knew well enough though that the team didn't know the area as well as he did, or at least as well as he _thought_ he did. He sighed, letting his head drop back down in defeat. He didn't know why he was here, no one had said a word to him aside from telling him to stop fighting before he was punched in the face and tied down to his chair. He could still feel the blood of the Rat he'd done away with, now caked and flaking on his cheek. It itched like crazy and he tried to rub it away on his shoulder but it was to no avail. Just another thing to keep him going insane. Why was he here? Why did their boss want him? Was he going to actually be able to get out of this or was he literally just a sitting duck waiting for his execution shot?

His ears perked at the sound of the door opening and he looked straight up, hearing a mess of footsteps come into the room.

"Hello there, Son," a gentle man's voice spoke.

Kyle's teeth bared, his rancor spiking at the soothing tone. "Let me out of here, you fuck!" he sneered.

"Robert, close the curtains will you?" the voice calmly delivered. "Otherwise he'll be blinded and that's no way to treat our guest."

Kyle's brow rose. "Handcuffing me to a chair isn't exactly something for a dinner party, either, Buddy," he spat.

"Shut up, you," an angry voice came from behind him.

"Make me!" he shouted, twisting his head in that direction.

"Now, now, Robert," that damn tone filled the air once more. "There's no reason to speak to him as such. He's frightened."

"Ha!" Kyle scoffed. "You think I'm scared of you pussies? Please. My little brother is more intimidating than you fucks could ever hope to be! Hiding behind your little fucking guns? What a way to announce that you Rat fuckers are _nothing_."

The voice laughed a bit, seeming as though he genuinely enjoyed Kyle's comment, and it only made the redhead more furious. "Ah, Robert, take off his blindfold, will you? Gently, though, it may be caught in his hair."

"Yes sir," the angrier voice said. The blindfold was slowly peeled off of Kyle's head. He groaned and shook himself, his eyes squinting as he tried to adjust himself to the dimness of the room.

"How's that?" the soft voice asked.

"Who are you?!" Kyle seethed, trying to ward off the throbbing of his eyeballs.

"You may call me Peter."

"I'd rather call you Assfuck to be honest with you, Peter," he grumbled, finally managing to work his eyes all the way open. The shapes in front of him were slightly distorted and he sighed irritably.

"Turn the dimmer up," Peter directed. "Very slowly though."

Kyle watched as the light crept up, his eyes easily adjusting to the rhythm. He stared in front of him, his green eyes sharply glancing over his adversaries. One Rat in the front of the room, one to his side...he looked in confusion at a man in a three piece suit sitting a few feet away from him, staring back at him with a crooked smile. He had to have been in his late forties, dark brown hair slightly receding, soft hazel eyes that Kyle shuddered at. They were almost _comforting_ in a way, he'd seen that same look in Stan's eyes so many times, and so many times he'd been saved by that kind of gaze.

The lights reached their peak and Peter grinned, "How's that?" he asked again.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "Peachy. Now what the _fuck_ do you want?" he shivered, his body trying to combat his coldness with the bitter heat of his anger.

Peter's gaze fell into concern and he got to his feet, Kyle watching his every move as he went over towards a closet, opening it and grabbing a large item out from a shelf. He unfolded it, revealing a wool blanket. Kyle watched in complete confusion as the man came over and wrapped it around the boy's shoulders.

"Are you thirsty?" Peter asked him, taking his seat again. "I know you've been here all night."

Kyle blinked at him, "What the...yeah, I'm fucking thirsty. Gonna poison me or some shit if I ask for water?" he asked dryly. "Let me have a nice cool sip before you shoot me in the face?"

"We have no intention of harming you," he raised his brow amusedly. He reached back behind him on a table and tossed a bottle over to Robert still standing and watching the redhead. "Show him the seal," he directed. The Rat showed Kyle the unbroken seal of the water bottle and the boy felt his bewilderment rising like no other. "Give him a drink," he nodded. The Rat unscrewed the bottle and held the mouth to Kyle's lips. He blinked a few times suspiciously before his dried throat took hold over all else. He lunged forward and grabbed it between his lips, taking grateful gulps of the crisp, chilled drink and letting it run down his throat, sating its pain at last. He managed to down half of it before finally pulling back and coughing a bit, a little running down his chin. He looked over at Peter who was just staring at him with that fucking crooked smile.

"I would thank you, but I'm not too keen on befriending the enemy," Kyle glowered.

"I'm not your enemy, Mr. Broflovski," he chuckled.

Kyle froze, his entire body rigid under the warmth his blanket was providing him. "What...what did you say?" he asked, his voice a tiny, cracking whisper.

Peter grinned, waving dismissively. "Men, take your leave. Mr. Broflovski and I have business to discuss."

"Yes, Sir," they saluted before walking out of the room, leaving Kyle and Peter staring at each other.

"How...how the fuck do you know me?" Kyle finally growled.

Peter got up and walked towards the end of the table, grabbing a manilla folder from the end and taking his seat once more. "Kyle Broflovski," he read. "Straight A student, treasurer of the school council, captain of the math and debate teams, was captain of the basketball team-"

"Okay so you found my permanent record or some shit," Kyle rolled his eyes. " _Why_ do you fucking have it? What do you want?"

Peter looked up at him, his hazel eyes dancing in the lights. "Kyle," he started simply, watching the boy flinch at his name, "I want _you_."

Kyle backed up in his chair, looking at the man uncertainly. "The fuck do you mean?"

Peter chuckled, grabbing another paper from the folder and holding it up. Kyle squinted at it before his heart nearly stopped. It was an old blueprint of his. He thought he'd lost it in a raid nearly a year ago...he bit his lip, looking at the man with confusion overshadowing his jade gaze. "You...are a remarkable young man," Peter said softly. "These blueprints...made from what little you could see. It's astounding."

"It's not fucking hard to draw squares and label them," he rolled his eyes. "But I guess you wouldn't know considering the fucktard soldiers that you send after us every fucking day," he glared. "And how do you know that _I_ made them? It could easily have been some other kid."

He shook his head, "No, it couldn't have. One, we compared your handwriting to some of your papers kept in school files," he raised his brow as Kyle shrunk down bitterly. "Two, we've seen you. We've had our eye on you for well over a year now," he smirked. "We've seen you on your little trips around, seen how well you command your little band of friends. You know exactly what needs done and you get it done. I need that in my squadron."

Kyle's face twisted, "You want me to work for you? You want me to work for the fuckers who came in and destroyed our lives? Took our homes, our families? You think that this is some fucking game, _Peter_?" he spat the name in distaste.

Peter sighed and shook his head, putting the folder onto the table. He slowly got to his feet and walked over to a sink beside the closet, grabbing a paper towel and beginning to run it under the water. "You don't know what it is we're doing here, Kyle," he said softly, finishing wetting it and wringing it out. "What we're doing...is so important for this country," he walked back over towards him. Kyle flinched back from him, gritting his teeth before the paper towel slowly started washing the bloody handprint from his cheek and chin.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he groaned, a part of him relieved that the itching finally fucking stopped, but he wasn't about to let the man see that.

Peter was silent until he finished his work, tossing the used towel into a trash can on the other end of the room. He moved in front of Kyle, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. "Tell me, what was South Park like before all of this started?"

He cocked his brow, "It was a town. It was a fucking town. People doing their thing and going about their days...aside from the occasional disaster that had to be averted," he rolled his eyes.

"Ah, and _who_ may I ask, often averted those disasters?" he smiled at him. "Yourself."

Kyle blushed a bit and growled, "Not only me, you know."

"Ah yes, your friends Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormick, and Eric Cartman were all often involved in some way or another, yes?" Kyle's heart sunk at their names.

"Cartman was usually the _cause_ of the disasters. But you stay the _fuck_ away from them," he shook furiously in his place.

"We have no use for them," Peter shrugged. "They don't have the tactical know-how that you do..." he continued watching as Kyle quivered, his eyes screaming in anger and panic at the mention of his friends from the enemy. "Anything to help calm your nerves?" he asked softly.

Kyle grew a cocky smirk, his shaking ceasing, and the man watched him questionably. "Smoke if you got 'em," he said dryly.

Peter raised his brow amusedly. "Regular or menthol?"

"Oh, menthol, please," he huffed. He knew if he made it out of this, he'd have to blame Christophe for starting him on the damn things. But watching the man take a pack from out of his pocket got him salivating for a taste. Peter held one to his lips and he took it between his teeth, letting him light him up and taking a deep inhale. He sighed, letting a cloud of smoke escape his lips as he kept the stick clenched between his molars. Peter watched him amusedly as his nose twitched with the smoke billowing into his eyes, but he couldn't care less. The bite was more than worth it. "So," he managed to fumble out past the smoldering cigarette, "important for the country, huh?"

Peter nodded, "You see, Kyle, South Park was...a pox you could say. Did nothing but cause trouble for the rest of the country time and again...action had to be taken."

Kyle felt that anger starting to boil up inside him again, "You. _You_ killed our parents!" he spit, his teeth gnashing the filter angrily. "Why the fuck would you fucking do that?! What kind of government sanctioned bullshit is-"

"We're not part of the usual government," he cut him off, leaning back against the table. "We're a special sect. We're known as Project Vivification."

Kyle raised his brow, taking another deep inhale of his menthol, letting the harsh smoke try its damnedest to calm his nerves. "And just who fucking authorized your little 'awakening' group?" he asked.

Peter laughed, "It's nice to know there's someone out there who doesn't need a dictionary every time they know of our name."

"So happy to make your day," he scoffed, ashing to his side with his tongue.

"Your government did," he said simply. "South Park was chosen to be...a better society. One made for the upcoming realities facing our country."

Kyle narrowed his eyes, "The fuck do you mean?"

He sighed, shrugging a bit, "Children...are so adaptable," he said softly. "You throw them into any situation and they find a way to make it work. Look at tales like Lord of the Flies and whatnot."

"Uh, hey, Dumbass, did you even _read_ that fucking book?" he snorted mockingly. "Their society fell the fuck apart, the same way that _ours_ did," he glowered.

"Ah, but how did they start?"

"Poorly," he frowned. "No one could agree on what was the most important element to start with and it spiraled downhill from there." he groaned, fidgeting in his chair. "Didn't know I'd be giving a middle-aged man a fucking English lesson today."

Peter laughed and shook his head, "Ah, but you're forgetting something. They made it. Not _all_ of them of course, but the ones like _you_ did. The ones who could figure things out, who could run the society as smoothly as a poem. The ones who weren't bumbling buffoons and would take matters into their own hands. And _you're_ the one we need, that epitomizes every bit of those elements. You're our Ralph," he grinned.

"Except for one very _key_ difference," Kyle smirked a bit. "Ralph didn't resort to violence. If I had my hands free, I'd tear that fucking smile right off your fucking face. Besides," he scoffed, leaning back and bobbing his cigarette in his lips, "Everyone but the fat kid and the epileptic survives. It's the _savage_ kids that make up the majority, not the common sense."

"But who do you think would recover the best from such an ordeal? Of that group, who do you think would go home, learn their lessons, and start anew the quickest?"

Kyle frowned, "Well...Ralph I guess?"

"Exactly," he nodded. "I'm no fool, Kyle. I can tell if we took you, dropped you off somewhere in the middle of the country and left you there, you'd manage to start your life over right away. You'd be strong enough to do so."

"No, you're forgetting one crucial detail," he scowled. "I'd come back here."

Peter cocked his head, "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because I'd save the kids of this town from you fuckers. I'd get my own army gathered up, we'd storm your 'precious' wall, and I'd get my friends, my _family_ away from you dirty Rats."

Peter's face broke into a wider smile and Kyle's into a deeper frown at the reaction. There was just no testing this guy, was there? "See, and _that's_ what I want from my men. I want them to be like you, to know that it's not about yourself, it's about your brothers."

Kyle blinked, his head spinning from all the directions that this crazy explanation was going. "You said...South Park was chosen to be a 'perfect society'," he said quietly. "What _kind_ of perfect society?"

"One built for war," he said simply, as though he were reading off of a fucking grocery list. Kyle's face fell and he continued, "We wanted you children to be bloodthirsty, hungry for vengeance."

"Well, you definitely got your wish," he growled. He noticed his cigarette had smoldered out and spit it onto the ground beside him. "What purpose would that serve for you? Or the government?"

"A society of soldiers, Kyle," he said softly, eyes beaming. "Think of the possibilities that it could have should we be thrown into yet another war!"

He tried desperately to keep his furious breathing under control as he locked eyes with the man. "You didn't think about the _ramifications_ ," he spat. "You wanted us to be nothing but war-starved dogs?! You kept killing us off! You won't _stop_ until we're all dead! What purpose do the dead serve you, huh?!"

"The weak are always weeded out in the thrall of war," he replied. "You? You are one of the strong."

"If I was anyone else, I would have been killed automatically when you caught me," he snarled. "Obviously I'm not the 'perfect war machine' you seem to think I am!"

"But look at what you did," he smiled. "You took down one of our own. You fought tooth and nail despite the fact that you _knew_ you weren't going to get away..." he walked behind him and opened the curtains, Kyle noticing that the sun was up and letting out an angry breath. "It's amazing what one can do when at the end of their rope, Mr. Broflovski," he said gently, staring up into the morning sky. "You killed a man with nothing but a little knife. You would have taken out all of us if you could have."

"You're damn right I would've," he scoffed. "You don't give my town any mercy and I don't give you any. An eye for an eye."

"Or in your case, a throat for a throat," he walked back in front of him and raised his brow.

"So that's it? Told me your little plans and you're gonna kill me now? Seems like a waste of time to me, a shitty plot device for a movie that just needs more runtime," he rolled his eyes.

Peter chuckled, "No. No I don't want to kill you, Mr. Broflovski."

"Well you may as well because I'm not working for you," he said lowly. "I'd much rather die than let you fuckers have any control over me."

He smirked, his face taking on a new, evil tone that sent Kyle's heart into an unruly panic. "I don't think you would want to disagree with us, Mr. Broflovski," he said evenly. "You see..." he leaned down and cupped Kyle's chin, forcing him to look back at him straight on. "You hold the lives of all the children left in your hands."

His face fell and his breathing became shallow in the man's grip. "What...what do you mean?"

"I mean a cleansing is going to take place should you not cooperate," he said simply. "Maybe we won't get your little resistance, but we'll get all the kids who live in the town just trying to mind their own business. They're not the fighters anyway. They didn't grow the way that they were supposed to. They just sit there quietly, playing, getting their food rations every day, just waiting for _you_ to do all the work. Kyle, they're _worthless_ to our cause. We kept them alive just waiting for you," he grinned.

"I...I can't..." his chest was twisted fiercely, his teeth grating over his lip. "Why me? Why not one of the other members of my team?" he demanded.

He scoffed a bit, "The only one we had a _remote_ interest in was the little French boy, but we knew he only had the mercenary skills. You have those and more. We want them. We want you to help lead another town down the same path as South Park. We'd kill off the adults, cleanse the town the same way we did yours. Then you would infiltrate, you'd train them to be as sharp and strong as you are, make them into an army unlike any other. One that doesn't care about who's right or wrong, they only want to fight."

Kyle's mouth dropped, his eyes glistening at the proposition held in front of him. "You can't..." he whispered. "You can't do this to another town!" he begged. "You don't understand what we've been through the past two years!" he began shouting out of control, his face beaming red and his body trembling in the man's hold. "Jesus Christ you...you fucking sick..." he stopped, his head dropping as he slowly shook it.

Peter forced his chin back up and looked at Kyle's desperate face with a low chuckle. "Kyle, if you do this, if you promise to help us lead the way, we'll _leave_ South Park. None of your little friends will ever be hurt again. We'll find the money to rebuild, to reopen the town just like it used to be."

"It'll _never_ be like it used to be," he said bitterly, tears beading his lashes. "Our families are gone. Our...our lives...you played with them like fucking toys until they broke!" he screamed, his teeth clattering. "You ruined us for absolutely _nothing_!"

"Au contraire," he countered. "We got _you_ out of the deal, and now with proper leadership, we can get a town in the right direction. We can move them forward quickly with you holding the reins. Think about it, Kyle. You'd be leading an army. Your friends would be safe and you would have a lot of power for someone so young," he cooed. "You could lead the next generation towards victory, have your name in history books as the general of the perfect army."

Kyle shook his head a bit, "Nothing is ever perfect. If I tried to lead a group, a resistance against _me_ would begin. And you'll be playing this game all over again with some other kid who's just as good as me."

He smirked, "Well that's just a chance we'll have to take, isn't it?" he said, finally relinquishing the redhead. Kyle flew his head back away from him and watched him with blank, dulled eyes. "I know what a decision this must be for you," the man said quietly, gathering his things from the table. He looked back over at him, that damn faux-reassurance smile back over his face. "I'll give you until tomorrow evening to make your decision. Someone will be in in a few hours to feed you..." he paused, chuckling at Kyle's broken expression. "Just remember, Kyle. It's up to you whether these kids, your 'family' as you called them, get to live or die. It should be easy enough for you to realize where your loyalties lie."

He finally gathered his bearings and walked to the front of the room, giving Kyle one last sly grin before opening the door and heading out. The soft echo of it closing bore down on the captive redhead, his body trembling out of his control. He knew that sound, he'd know it anywhere. It'd been plaguing him for the last two years. Every dream, every day that passed came another one. It was the echo of a gunshot, of an execution. He just didn't know this time if it was for the children he'd fought so hard for so long to protect, or if he'd finally found himself caught on the wrong end of the barrel.


	9. Blackout

Kenny sat, fidgeting in the early afternoon hours in the main room of their base, waiting for all of them to convene. He needed to know what had happened, there was always a story to be told whenever he came back. He could hear each of them moving around slowly in their separate alcoves, and he couldn't help but feel a worrying pit in his stomach, knowing that they only did so in one scenario:

Something had gone wrong.

He knew it wasn't for him, it never had been. Only when they lost a _mortal_ or when they failed a mission did things start slowing down with the team. He got to his feet, leaning against the wall and staring down the dimly lit hall, his boot tapping in impatience. His teeth grated over his lip as bodies slowly started coming out of their rooms one by one, looking at the blonde with dark circles under their eyes. He frowned. It looked like none of them got a good night's sleep at all. His heart sank as he realized that the most punctual of them all wasn't in the crowd heading towards him.

"Ken...where've you been?" Stan rasped, looking like death itself, his hand clasped on Ike's shoulder. Kenny looked at the younger boy and started trembling at the complete loss behind his dark brown eyes.

"No...K-Kyle..." he shook his head slowly, looking at Stan in complete horror.

"He was kidnapped by them...not killed," he said softly. Kenny raised his brow in confusion and shock.

"Kidnapped?" he repeated. "What...what happened?"

Stan sighed as everyone filed into the room, shaking his head softly. Christophe stepped up and looked at Kenny with a heavy frown over his dirtied face. "Stan and Kyle went to drop a transmitter for ze bug. Kyle's cover was blown and zhey took 'im. We...we 'ave to decide..." he sighed, looking away from Kenny's devastated face and back around towards the rest of the team. "I told you all to sleep on eet, now we must decide...everyone who z'hinks zat we should save Kyle, step to ze left side of ze room. Everyone else, to ze right."

They all looked at each other, Stan, Kenny, and Ike bolting to the left and watching the others in shock. "You've got to be kidding me..." Stan whispered. The group all sighed, looking as though it was the hardest decision they've ever had to make. "It should be an easy choice!" Stan spat angrily.

"Stan, do not speak," Christophe warned. "We know 'ow 'ard eet iz for you. But we all have our own opinions. Now..." he joined them on the left side and stared at the remainder. "Do not let others influence you," he warned. "Zhis is not an easy decision. No one will blame you for what side you choose."

"We will!" Kenny said angrily, tears brimming his eyes as he gestured to himself and Stan. The complete consternation of the sudden news filling his emotions to the breaking point.

"Non," Tophe narrowed his eyes. "Zhis is about ze benefit of ze team. No one state your reasons as of yet, choose your side first." Token, Clyde, Craig, and Tweek all looked at each other first, taking heavy sighs and walking over to the right side of the room. Stan and Kenny watched them with dropped jaws, both of them feeling their rage beginning to percolate. "Not a word," Tophe held up his hand in front of them.

Wendy walked over beside Stan to their side, rubbing his arm comfortingly. He couldn't be bothered to feel it, his horror rising as Gregory, Bebe, Rebecca, and Butters all stalked over to the right side, leaving only Cartman standing in the midst of it all. The brunette looked between the groups and shrugged, "Doesn't matter _what_ side I choose. Kahl's stuck there."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Stan screamed, tearing his fingers through his hair in complete frustration. "You...you all _know_ how...how important he is to-"

"He was running out of ideas, Stanley," Gregory interjected softly, his hazel eyes noticeably distraught. "Do...do you think any of us _want_ to lose him?" he gestured towards the guilt-ridden group staring down at their feet. "This isn't about how much we care about him. This is about what's best for the team. And...and we _can't_ risk a rescue mission when we don't know anything about not only the amount of guards on the outside, but the interior of the compound. Stanley...Kyle was the only one who could have plotted this out...I'm sorry."

"You traitor _bastards_ ," Kenny seethed. "Kyle wouldn't give a _fuck_ if there was a plan or not. He'd get shot through the eye trying to save any one of you pansy-ass fuckers!"

"We're doing what's smart, Kenny," Craig stepped up beside Gregory and frowned deeply at him. "Broflovski would have wanted us to do what was best for us as a unit."

"Kyle _is_ what's best for us as a unit!" Ike screeched, grasping his dark hair and tears racing down his cheeks.

Token shook his head, "You're biased. All of you," he nodded. "Well, except Wendy. I don't know what she's doing over there."

"Thinking of us as a team, that's what I'm doing," she frowned, crossing her arms bitterly. "Kyle is too much of an asset to just let go like he was merely a gun we lost in the crossfire. He is _not_ expendable!"

Stan ran his eyes down the lot, landing on Butters who was curling into himself shamefully. "Butters," he breathed angrily, waiting for his eyes to raise and meet his own. "You're a fucking sensitive little fucker. Why aren't _you_ over here?"

He bit his lip and shuffled his feet. "Aw jeez, Stan. Ya know I like Kyle...but...None of us know how to get to him and well...Kyle always said t-that one life ain't worth two."

"You're right," Kenny sneered. "He said that every life is _just_ as important as the next. And that means that _he_ is as vital as any of us standing in this fucking room!"

Clyde frowned, "But he's only _one_ person. What if we _did_ get him out, but we lost two others in the process? You think he'd be happy with us then? You think he wouldn't be fucking livid that we did that?"

Stan and Kenny paused, looking at each other with distraught blue eyes. Each pair screaming of the right thing to say, the way to be like Kyle and persuade everyone to their side with infallible logic. But it just wasn't working. They lost that element in their group, and now they felt as though the tide were taking them out towards the vastness of the sea; nothing but complete loss, fear, isolation.

"All right," Christophe sighed angrily, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it up, taking a very shaky inhale. "Eet iz decided...we proceed wiz'hout Kyle." He made his way towards the middle of the room beside a silent, crinkled-brow Cartman, looking on them all with firm brown eyes. "Note zat wiz'hout 'im 'ere, you all will be working a lot 'arder..." he looked at Gregory and narrowed his gaze furiously. "I expect you to be just as vigilant and sharp as 'e was. You will do your first scout tomorrow morning," he stated firmly. Gregory blanched lightly before nodding and letting out a deep, sorrowful sigh.

Ike sniffled, his legs crumpling underneath him and sending him down onto the floor. Kenny slid down beside him, gathering him in his arms and letting him sob out into his sweatshirt. The blonde looked up at the rest of the team and shook his head. "I hope you're all happy," he growled. "This is the _one_ team member's death we could have prevented. And you fuckers are too fucking scared to save him. Now we're _all_ going down and you have no one to blame but yourselves."

The opposing team all dropped their heads in shame as Stan and Kenny held Ike down on the floor, Wendy wiping tears from her grey eyes and patting Stan's shoulder. "Guys..." Token bit his lip. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to us," Stan grumbled. "Apologize to Kyle."

The guilty group looked at each other and sighed together, shaking their heads as they watched the three on the floor. Cartman couldn't tear his angered, calculating gaze away from the ground. Christophe kept his focus on his cigarette, muttering under his breath his own apologies for Kyle and how upsetting it was to lose his second in command, the only one he'd had that had any usefulness. A soft, muffled clunking noise broke through them, the sound of static softly wafting over and they all looked around.

"The fuck was that?" Craig blinked.

"The bug!" Ike shouted, running over to his receiver. He turned up the volume, all of them listening to a loud series of thuds coming through it.

"It's too early for their meetings," Gregory frowned as they all gathered around the table holding the receiver. "Kyle said they met around three...it's only noon." He and Tophe looked at each other suspiciously before they turned their attention back to it with the rest of them.

The clear sound of a door closing echoed around them, followed by a muffled screech and a series of sickening squishing sounds. Heavy breaths flew through the air before falling to a soft swishing noise, all of them huddling a little closer together in fear and curiosity. A voice broke through, a wonderful vocalization that they all needed so desperately to hear: _"Guys? Guys I hope to fuck you're listening. Jesus fucking Christ please be there..."_

* * *

_Twenty minutes earlier..._

Kyle stared bitterly at the man spoon-feeding him soup, taking each bite with his teeth scraping against the utensil. He knew better though, he hadn't eaten for two days, he had to rally some of his strength back. Not that it really mattered with the options he had laid out before him. He'd rather just crumple up and die than deal with what he knew he'd have to decide upon before tomorrow.

"Dunno what the Commander sees in you," the Rat grumbled, shaking his head and looking the boy up and down. "Look like you can't even lift a fuckin' brick."

Kyle gave him a cocky smirk. "Yeah but I can pick up a knife and stab your buddies through the fucking throat just fine." The man growled, moving his hand to hit Kyle before clenching his fist and slowly lowering it back to his knee. "Aw, what's wrong?" Kyle taunted. "Did Peter tell you you can't hurt me? Threaten your job? Hm?"

"Watch it, kid," he scowled.

"Or. What?" he hissed. "Think I'm scared of you? Are you really so low on the totem pole that your job consists of you feeding a kid handcuffed to a chair? Couldn't go play with the big boys, is that it?" he grinned. He leaned back satisfactorily as the man trembled with unguarded rage. "And think of it this way, Buddy. If I _do_ decide that I'll join your little team, you'll _still_ be waiting on me hand and foot because I'll just jump right into a higher ranking. Must really bite, huh?" he cocked his head and raised his brows mockingly.

"You're done, you piece of shit," the man spat, grabbing his bowl and throwing it on the table, turning to walk away.

"Hold it a second there," Kyle called after him. "Kinda need to use the bathroom and I'm gonna _guess_ that if I make a mess here, it'd be _your_ job to clean it up. So...will ya take me?"

The man looked back at him with a glare and sneered, shaking his head and making his way back towards the redhead. He bent down behind the chair with a grunt, un-cuffing Kyle's ankles from his chair, out of reach of any kicks that the boy might try to get in. Kyle watched him carefully before he moved behind him completely. His slender wrists were grasped in one hand, one of the cuffs falling from his skin to unwind from the chair's backing before being snapped back into place. His arms were clutched in a tight hold and he winced as he was shoved onto his feet. A sturdy hand was placed on the back of his neck, leading him towards the open door and down the hall.

Kyle's sharp, analytical eyes took in all that they could. They widened as the two of them passed a room with timber wolf carpeting and a cracked open window, one Rat standing outside it playing with a phone. A small grin played on his lips, letting the man lead him to his own speed, letting him have his one moment in victory over the small redhead. They turned a right corner down the way, passing one other Rat and the man pushing him shoved him towards the bathroom door.

Kyle looked back at him and scoffed. "Uh, hey, Buddy? You got two choices here: Either ya come in and hold my dick for me while I piss, or you cuff my hands in front, huh?" The man stared at him for a moment, his gaze narrowing before he rolled his eyes.

"Stay still," he muttered, whirling Kyle around and working on his cuffs.

"Oh I wouldn't dream of moving from you, Big Guy," Kyle blew his bangs out of his face, feeling his wrist once again being freed. The Rat grasped both his hands and shoved them in front of him, re-capturing the skin. Kyle grinned slyly to himself. "Thank you," he smiled sweetly. "Could you get the door, please?" The man grunted, turning the knob and shoving it open for him. "Thank you," he repeated, stepping in and closing it behind him.

He managed to find the light and looked around the bathroom quickly. No window or anything, so that was out of the question. He let out a long breath, his gaze catching on the toilet's tank. He licked his lips, walking over and fumbling with his bound hands around the porcelain. He slowly pried it off, trying desperately not to make too much sound. He grunted a bit, struggling to support the weight with the limited reach the cuff's chains gave him. He couldn't help but be thankful they'd chosen longer ones to be able to bind him to the chair. He clenched his fingers around the rim of the lid, testing swinging it back and forth. He smirked satisfactorily before it turned back into a frown. He had one shot at this. He had three men to take down, each without alerting even more. Short distance, one turn, three men. It wouldn't be that hard if he just stayed his course.

No weak tree limbs in his way this time. It was time for him to prove to himself and the fuckers holding him hostage he wasn't a failure.

He licked over his lips, hopping up on one foot and flushing the toilet, moving and standing off to the side behind the door. "Okay, can you help me out now?" he shouted towards the barrier, clutching his weapon. His heart pounded in adrenaline as the door slowly opened. The man poked his head inside, looking around before Kyle brought the lid down onto the base of his skull, hearing a sickening crack as the body fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. He leaned the lid against the wall, grasping the man's shirt in his hands and pulling him into the room. He shut the door again, leaning over the body listening for the man's breathing. He couldn't help the sadistic grin overshadowing his features when nothing but stillness rang in his ears.

He leaned onto the floor and grasped the cuff keys out of the man's pocket, awkwardly maneuvering his wrists to get them unlocked. He sighed in relief as they fell onto the man's back, rubbing the skin delicately. He scanned him up and down and frowned. The guy had to be at least twice his size, but it'd have to do. He quickly stripped the man down, checking the uniform for blood before working the black pants onto his cold and aching body. He groaned, tightening the belt around himself and finding it was too damn big. He rolled his eyes, "So you fuckers are where all the food went," he muttered, managing to tie it around himself in a messy loop. He slipped the long grey shirt on, rolling up the sleeves over his bony arms and checking pockets. He pulled out a knife from a holster and grinned. "I warned youuu," he sang to the dead man at his feet.

He snagged the handcuffs from the ground and let one of the cuffs hang loosely from his belt. He managed to kick the man out of his way, opening the door a crack and peering around cautiously. The man at the end of the hall was staring the other way, completely disinterested in whatever was happening on Kyle's end. The redhead tongued over his lips, glancing the other way and seeing it clear. He shut off the bathroom light, the knife grasped tightly in his fingers. He stalked his way down, careful not to let the rustle of his loose clothing give away his position. His steps were long and purposeful, his eyes unblinking and ready for the possibility of the man looking his way.

He crept up right behind him, taking a deep breath before striking. He reached up, clasping his hand over the man's mouth, pulling him back against his chest. He took the knife over his throat, slashing straight through the tender flesh. "There there," he cooed as he followed the choking, shocked man down onto the ground. "Just think of all the kids you did this to," he whispered with a glare, watching as the life began to fade from bright blue eyes. Kyle shuddered, seeing Stan or Kenny's eyes in the man's gaze and feeling his anger rising again. The man tried to scream from under his hand, more blood oozing out of his throat and coating the tiled floor in a sticky puddle. "Just fucking _die,_ " Kyle whispered bitterly, staring as he did just that, those bright eyes dulling before becoming encased behind heavy-ladened lids.

Kyle got to his feet, dragging the man down into the hall before stepping to the corner, looking down both ways. Still just the one distracted Rat outside of the room he needed. Excellent.

He re-grasped his knife, slowly inching his way down against the wall, his ears perked for any signs of someone finding a fallen comrade. One more, just one more...He made it about three feet from the man before their gazes locked and Kyle froze in panic.

The man stared at him, shocked, before Kyle growled, lunging forward and grabbing the man, shoving him down into the room and landing on top of him. He reared his foot back, kicking the door closed as the two of them wrestled on the ground, Kyle's hand managed to grab the Rat's phone, shoving it into his opened mouth, fire burning through his eyes. He quickly shoved the man's hands down with one hand and bared his teeth in fury. The man looked at him in horror as his knife came down into his throat and chest, stabbing him in a relentless assault before he could so much as try to free his hands in defense. Kyle kept on driving the blade into him, feeling the metal scrape against bone and shuddering. He felt the man go slack under him and leaned back on top of the Rat's hips, wiping sprayed blood from off his face and panting.

He pushed himself off of the body and began crawling over towards the area where he knew the bug should be. He scanned the carpet, biting his lip before the metal scrap caught his eyes and he nearly cried in joy, scuttling over towards it. He prayed to God someone was there to hear him. This was the town's only shot. He didn't trust the Rats as far as he could throw them, it didn't matter if he got out, but _someone_ had to know about the possibility of what could happen to all the kids.

"Guys? Guys I hope to fuck you're listening. Jesus fucking Christ please be there..." he closed his eyes and bit his lip. "Something very bad is likely to happen _soon_ , probably tomorrow evening. You need to listen to me carefully..." he took a deep breath. "The Rats. They're...they're possibly going to execute a 'cleansing' of the town, get rid of _all_ the kids and start this mess somewhere else..." he paused, shooting his head around and hearing various voices and he panicked. "Look, you have to get all the kids you can somewhere safe!" he pleaded quickly, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "I...I don't know if I can get out of here...you _have_ to save everyone you can! Hide them or...or..." he groaned, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Fuck!" he hissed as footsteps came closer towards the door.

"Mr. Broflovski?" Peter's voice rang from the outside of the door. Kyle quickly backed up against the wall, heading towards the opposite side of the bug to divert them. The door was shoved open, hitting the fallen Rat and Peter let out an amused hum as they managed to shove him aside, a group of four Rats to the man's side staring Kyle down angrily. Kyle couldn't help but notice the lack of guns on them and sighed in a bit of relief. This guy was determined to make sure he wasn't killed, he at least had _that_ in his favor.

"Get away from me," he hissed angrily, slithering up as far against the wall as he could.

"Mr. Broflovski I am _impressed,_ " the man grinned. "Took down three men on your own in such a short amount of time and with no one noticing any sound? _That_ is some damn good work."

"Great, glad to make you so happy with my pest control. Give me a few without guns and I'm more than willing to give you more of a show," he glowered.

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Ah, Kyle, what are we going to do with you now?"

"I'd suggest not making such light of the situation and letting me go," he frowned, slowly rising to his feet. One of the Rats moved towards him and Kyle snarled, whipping the cuffs from his belt, twisting the man's arm back in a painful fashion and managing to fully ensnare him. He quickly wrapped his arm around the man's throat and kicked the back of his legs, bringing him down to his knees and growling at the others. "You wanna fuckin' come after me? Fine, but you're gonna watch him _die_ first," the redhead snarled, locking his arm tighter as the man struggled against him.

Peter grinned crookedly and shook his head. "Amazing. Simply amazing."

Kyle watched him confusedly. "I...I have your fucking lackey here in case you didn't notice!" he shouted. "So..." he trailed off, the color draining from his face as he noticed the complete lack of empathy in the man's expression.

"So what?" the man raised his brow. "You kill him and then what, Mr. Broflovski? You can't get out of here."

"I've killed four of you in one day, I can kill more," he promised, tightening his grip around the man, listening to him wheeze in his arms, struggling to contain his thrashing. "I can get out of here and you damn well know it, you sick fuck."

He chuckled and shrugged, "Well, if anyone could, it'd definitely be you. But that's not what's happening today. What will killing that man accomplish, Kyle? How is that any better than us attacking you kids? Hm? After all, he's just doing a job, trying to support a family. Maybe this one didn't kill anybody. Maybe you're taking an innocent life, the very thing that _you_ have worked so adamantly against," he cocked his brow.

Kyle's face fell, looking at the man in his arms still struggling to get some air and he loosened his grip only slightly. He raised his acidic eyes back up to his adversary and took a deep breath. "There's an equal chance he's killed."

"But you're not one who likes to take those odds, are you?" he challenged. "You're too good for that. I'll tell you the truth about this man, Kyle. He's twenty five. He joined us about two months ago. He hasn't been on the field, he guards the inside of this compound. He's never spilt a drop of blood. Between the two of you? _You're_ the villain here."

Kyle blinked and shook his head slowly, "I'm protecting people, those kids...they don't deserve what you do to them..." he slowly let his eyebrows furrow once more. "And this fucker wouldn't let them live if he crossed their paths," he snarled, retightening his grip and letting the man choke in his grip. He stared down at his head angrily, trying to get every last drop of air out of him as quickly as possible.

"Grab him," Peter motioned nonchalantly. He called back out into the hallway, "I need some Lorazepam in here!" he shouted.

Kyle's eyes widened, "Oh _fuck_ no!" he shouted as the other three Rats came and wrangled him off of his victim. "Let me go!" he screeched as they grabbed onto him tightly and pushed him down onto the floor. "Get off of me you fat fucks!" he jostled around underneath their grips, watching with wide, worried eyes as another man came into the room with a needle held protectively in his hand. Kyle's eyes flickered confusedly at the mess of curly black hair atop his head, a flash of recognition slamming through him before his panic took hold once more. "STOP!" he screamed before a heavy hand slammed into his mouth, smashing into his nose and making his head spin.

"Oh, Mr. Broflovski," Peter watched him with interest, shaking his head. "You realize you're only furthering my points about your potential, hm?" he watched as the sleeve around Kyle's arm was shoved up, the man trying to hold him still long enough to inject him. Kyle screamed furiously under the hands, frustrated tears beading his lashes as the needle found its way down into his pale flesh. The man quickly injected the serum and pulled the metal back out, rubbing the tender flesh of Kyle's forearm with his thumb.

Kyle's breathing intensified and he continued trying to fight his way out of their grip, mumbling nonsense. Peter motioned for the man to let go of his mouth and Kyle's lips quivered, staring at the man with heavy eyes. "You...can't...do...this..." he pleaded, his head beginning to loll, his body feeling remarkably heavy even without the weights of the Rats atop of him.

Peter just smirked at him, "You'll come around, Kyle. For now, get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow," he chuckled. Kyle tried lifting his head to argue before he lost his battle, his eyes slipping closed and his body going limp against the floor.

One of the Rats turned and un-cuffed their buddy and he rubbed his wrists, shaking his head at the boy. "Jesus fucking Christ that kid's strong," he muttered, getting to his feet.

Another nodded in agreement, "Yeah, he took out Johnny with a fucking toilet tank lid," he scoffed. "No good piece of shit," he kicked Kyle's arm a bit.

Peter frowned, "He's more useful to us than any of you have ever been. Now, take one of the cots into the room we had him in, cuff his wrists, but nothing else."

The second Rat raised his brow, "You sure that's a good idea?"

Peter nodded, "He'll be out about six hours with that dosage. And he won't be able to do much more than move his head around and talk after that until tomorrow."

The man nodded, reaching down and hefting under Kyle and lifting him into the air. "What room was he in?"

"The back room with the window," Peter said, gesturing in that direction with his thumb. He stepped out of the way to let the men pass him by, watching the redhead with a smirk. "And make sure the window is cracked for him," the man directed gently. "That room can get stuffy." They nodded and turned, stepping over their fallen Rat to get towards the door.

"What about Dave here?" one of the Rats pointed to the body.

"Take him outside and we'll prepare all three of their burials for in a few hours," he sighed, shaking his head and looking up out the window. The dead Rat was gently lifted by his comrades and carried out the door without another word. The man with the needle stepped up beside Peter and looked at him questionably.

"Why are you letting this kid kill people and not punishing him, Sir?" he asked meekly.

Peter grinned, "You don't think that him being kept from his little teammates is punishment? After all, he's right, he's just as merciless as we are with his little town," he shrugged. "Can't blame the kid for trying."

The man frowned but nodded, "I just feel like this kid is bad news is all."

He laughed and clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, he's out for awhile and by then we'll have his decision. I'm sure he'll come around to our side, don't you worry, Michael," he smirked before walking out of the room, leaving the curly-haired man holding his needle, staring out the window with a heavy sigh and deep, sunken eyes.

* * *

The room was silent as the transmission went the same way. Every face was upturned in pure horror at what had just transpired from beyond the wavelengths of the radio.

"What the fuck do they _want_ with him?" Kenny asked shakily.

"I do not know," Christophe bit his lip hard enough to break the skin and he cursed lightly. He grabbed another cigarette and lit it up, his eyes not leaving the receiver. "Gregory, you need to find a place to 'ide kids."

"Where on Earth do you think I can do that?" Gregory blinked. "For goodness sakes, Christophe, the entire town is block-" he stopped short with a firm, sharp slice of mocha-brown eyes.

"You are not to question eet," he said curtly. "Kyle said all ze kids are in danger and we need to save zhem, and I will not tolerate anyz'hing less zhan your full effort, oui?"

Gregory nodded softly, knowing well enough not to press the question any further. He quietly made way over towards Kyle's blueprints of the town in the corner of the room, his hazel eyes exhaustedly looking for a possible out.

"I...I need to..." Stan bit his lip before turning on his heel and walking towards the front of the room, heading down the hallway towards the entrance to the base. He turned as Kenny and Cartman headed up behind him. He silently sighed, turning his head back and pushing open the door slightly, glancing around for any potential enemies. He spotted none and clambered out, the other two following closely behind him. Cartman closed the door and recovered it and they all stared at each other.

"So," Cartman started, looking at their devastated faces, "How do we get him out?"

The two of them looked at him in shock. "You? _You_ want to rescue Kyle?" Stan blinked.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, "No, I don't want to rescue Kahl. I want to rescue the only fucking chance we fucking have. Unfortunately, the mind that has the plan for that shit happens to be in his dumb Jew head."

Kenny couldn't help but smirk, "You big softie. You're just as worried for as we are."

He cocked his brow, "Keep this shit up, Po'Boy and you two can go rescue your boyfriend on your own."

"No...no we need you..." Stan nodded softly. He crossed his arms and shuffled his foot in the dirt. "How do we do it though? How do we get to the back of the building and get him out?"

Kenny was silent for a moment, rubbing his arm self-consciously. This could raise so many fucking questions between all of them, could show them something they wouldn't want to see...But that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was getting Kyle _out._ He looked between the two of them, his blue eyes glittering mischievously in the afternoon light. "I know how."


	10. Wretches and Kings

His body felt tied down, floating on a raft in the sea of his subconscious. With a cotton-filled head he tried desperately to reach the shore, forcing thick lashes to flutter up and let him see once again. He groaned, shifting. A tight hold on his wrists sent his heart into a flurry, unable to comprehend just what it was he was fighting against.

"Calm down," a dry voice beckoned him, echoing fuzzily in his ears.

He shifted again, biting his lip and arching his back in discomfort. Why was he so heavy? Why couldn't he seem to swim out towards home? " _Fuck,_ " he managed to whimper out, his brows furrowing as he fought desperately to become conscious once again. He felt a hand on his shoulder and shivered. It was cold. Why was it so cold?

A dry throat swallowed down what little air he could find, green eyes finally emerging through cinnamon lashes. He managed to roll his head to the side, his mouth hanging partially open in delusion as his mind tried to catch up to his surroundings. He found himself staring at the familiar curly-haired boy from earlier. "Who..." he whispered, his eyes closing again and his breathing deep and desperate.

"Come on, wake up," the boy said firmly. "You killed three men, you can fucking wake up from a goddamn sedative."

Kyle's brows furrowed once more at the word. Sedative. They drugged him. He groaned as recollections flew back into his delirious mind. Perfect society, war, soldiers, cleansing...the words were dis-conjoined, trying to make some lick of sense in his rattled state. He tongued over his dry lips and once again forced his eyes open to see brimming brown eyes staring at him intensely.

"Where am I?" he rasped.

The boy's stance seemed to lessen with a finally complete sentence. "You're back in your holding room," he answered. "You've been unconscious for over ten hours."

His eyes widened a bit, looking around the room and growling under his breath. He looked down, finding himself once again stripped down to his boxers. He sighed irritably, trying to curl his legs together. They were numb. _Everything_ was numb. He tried moving his arms, finding them weighted down against a weakened torso and his frustration began to build. "I want my clothes," he mumbled, his head dropping back down exhaustedly, eyes focusing lazily on the ceiling.

"They...said the only clothes you'd get would be one of our uniforms," the boy said quietly.

Kyle snarled a bit and looked over at him with narrowed eyes. "Who are you?" he asked. "I know you."

The boy scoffed derisively and shrugged, "Yeah, I used to live in South Park. Left about five years ago. Couldn't deal with you conformist fuckers anymore."

The word struck a chord and Kyle blinked in shock, "Michael?"

He nodded, leaning back in his chair and watching the redhead cautiously. "Well I guess not everyone forgot about me. Surprising," he quirked a brow.

Kyle laughed hoarsely, "You kidding? The other three goths just got even _more_ irritating when you left."

Michael nodded sadly, "Yeah...I just got stationed here six months ago...they're dead," he said blandly.

Kyle's chest twisted and he shied down as much as his body would allow it. "I'm sorry, Michael. I...I tried to get them into our team but..."

He waved dismissively, "They would have wanted to go out like that. Not part of any group, just minding their own fucking business. Life sucks, anyway."

"Ain't that the truth," Kyle muttered, blinking slowly and trying to free his hands, growling as the familiar handcuffs cut against his wrists underneath his back. He frowned, "Why are you one of the Rats? That's about as conformist as you're gonna get."

"Needed a fucking job, unfortunately," he rolled his eyes. "Got assigned to medical for some stupid reason and well, here we are."

Kyle stared at him, the confusion within him mounting by the second. "Michael...South Park was your fucking home. Why are you just...letting them do this?"

He quirked a brow, "You think I'm in charge of this shit? Hell, I didn't know it was South Park until someone told me right before I was sent here..." he shifted a bit and rolled his eyes. "Stupid fucks didn't know I was from here, otherwise they wouldn't have deployed me."

"Why not?" he coughed a bit. "Fear of an uprising?"

He shook his head, "No. Part of their little 'initiation' is telling you that if you cooperate, _your_ hometown won't be targeted."

Kyle's eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly, struggling to sit up and failing. Michael sighed, pushing his black bangs back and reaching under him, helping him sit against the wall. Kyle stared at him, spring green starting to spark back to life. "Blackmail?" he managed to let out. "That's why they...oh god..." he bit his lip and shook his head a bit.

Michael scoffed, "I can see those morals of yours are still well and alive in there, Broflovski." Kyle looked at him with a cocked brow and he continued. "Don't think that all the soldiers here are doing it to 'protect their families' or whatever faggy shit you're imagining. Most of them are doing it for fun," he frowned. "There's only a handful of us that don't want anything to do with this bullshit."

Kyle narrowed his gaze, "But...your hometown is _already_ the target. Why did they enlist you if-"

"Because I wanted South Park off my fucking dossier," he cut him off. "I lied on my enlistment form. Didn't know that I'd be sent straight back here...what the fuck are the odds of that?"

"1 in 20,000, give or take," Kyle shrugged.

He rolled his eyes again, "I see you're still a know-it-all goody-goody conformist."

"I'm one of the leaders of a fucking rebellion," he scowled. "And if I was 'just a conformist', I wouldn't be being threatened to be the sole leader of their fucking plans..." he dropped his shoulders and looked at his lap defeatedly. "I...I don't know what to do about it..." he admitted guiltily.

"I'd figure you'd want to escape and 'crush the regime' or whatever it is you superhero types do," he raised his brow.

"Superhero types?" he blinked.

He shrugged, "You should hear the commander prattle on about you. Everyone stationed here knows who you are and what you can do. Especially after today. He told everyone stories about how you've saved kids and managed to outdo us at every turn up until yesterday."

He groaned and rolled his eyes, "I feel like this guy wants to take me on a date more than he wants me to be his general."

"Yeah I was getting the fag vibes from him too," he nodded. "He just thinks that he can win you over with his ideas."

"He definitely waited too long for that," he glowered, gritting his teeth. "I watched way too many of my friends die to think that this is the right path..." he sighed and shook his head. "But...I don't think I have a choice."

"Whaddya mean?"

His emerald eyes began to glisten and he bowed his head shamefully, "I...I can't let more kids die here...we've already lost so much," he whispered. "I think...I'm just going to have to go with you fuckers...but I feel like I'll agree and he'll lock me away and kill everyone anyway. I don't trust him not to..." he beat his head softly against the wall behind him. "I feel like I'm going to fail everybody no matter what I do."

Michael stared at him for an obscene amount of time, watching his lithe form racking through his decision curiously. "You might be right," he finally answered. "But you have more of a chance if you leave than if you stay here."

Kyle looked at him in a bit of shock. "Would...would you let me go?" he whispered, his eyes glimmering with hope.

The noirette sighed and shrugged, "I can't exactly just open the door for you but...I don't know," he finally resolved. "They'll probably kill me if I do, not that living this Hell is worth it anyway. Just fighting for nothing so a bunch of rich-ass fatcats can stay in their mansions from the grants they're getting for their 'revolutionary' ideas."

Kyle shook his head, a phrase that Christophe had taught him ringing through his head like an angered siren song. "' _Quand les riches se font la guerre, ce sont les pauvres qui meurent,'"_ he quoted softly.

"Huh?"

The redhead looked over at him and smiled sadly, "'When the rich wage war, it's the poor that die'..." Kyle watched him nodding at the words and sighed tiredly, his body starting to weigh him down once again. "God...two years of this shit," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if you're right..."

"What do you-" Michael stopped and they both looked as the door was pushed open and Peter stepped into the room, a large smile as he found Kyle.

"Well, Mr. Broflovski, you're up," he nodded approvingly.

He growled, "Let me out of here you sick fuck. I'm done with this kidnapping bullshit."

"Not kidnapping," he said softly. "Holding with persuasion," he chuckled. He eyed Kyle's limbs starting to quiver in fury, trying to rally towards him and he raised his brows in surprise. "Well, I didn't think you'd be so quick to recover from the sedative," he commented. "Michael, give him another small dosage, will you?"

Kyle snarled in fury, trying like all hell to get over and attack the well-dressed man. "You already fucking have me tied the fuck up, what more do you want?!"

He smirked and shrugged, "You were chained up and killed a man today, Mr. Broflovski. I'm not taking that risk again until I have your full compliance. Even then you will be guarded."

"Because nothing says 'follow this leader' more than presenting him to your victims in cuffs," he frowned.

"We'll train you before then," he smiled softly. "We'll get you on our side before you know it." Kyle rolled his eyes and growled and Peter looked back at Michael with a grin. "Dose him up for..." he looked at his watch and hummed. "Another six hours, will you?"

Michael blinked, "Sir, if I give him too much, he could develop some breathing troubles..."

"Then keep a close eye on him, yes?" he raised his brow. "You have full use of our medical facilities and you know that. Keep him out but keep him alive."

"Well then you may wanna throw some fucking insulin on that goddamn list," Kyle rolled his eyes. "You fuckers took me away from my medicine."

"Already gave you your dosage this afternoon," the man chuckled. "Work for us and you won't have to steal it anymore," he added. "Good night, Mr. Broflovski. We'll discuss your decision bright and early."

"Hold it!" Kyle shouted, almost making Michael lose his needle he was preparing. Kyle and the man locked eyes and Kyle's lips curled back into a snarl. "If I work for you, if I agree to this bullshit, how do I know that you won't go back on your promise? How do I know you won't kill all the kids anyway?"

Peter cocked his head and pouted, "Well I'd figure you'd just have to trust me...but we can work a contract or something if that's to your liking. I can easily persuade one of our lawyers to make it for us."

Kyle took a deep breath and sighed, "Fine. Make a contract. We'll talk about it _only_ when I have it in front of me."

The man grinned widely and nodded. "Excellent. I knew you'd think of every possible outcome." Kyle rolled his eyes, watching as Michael grasped his arm, twisting it a bit in its confined position. "Good night, Kyle," Peter nodded, watching the boy inject him before pivoting out of the room and closing the door.

Michael looked up at him with heavy eyes, "I only gave you enough to keep you out for about two hours. You'll be groggy as fuck but you'll be awake. He should be well out himself by then."

"Thanks..." Kyle whispered, letting him help him back onto his back as the thick mist of drowsiness settled around him once again.

"What did you mean I was right?" Michael asked, staring at him inquisitively.

Kyle tried to keep his eyes open, but they refused to give way, the drug speeding through his system like no other. "Sometimes...I think...living this nightmare..." he took a deep breath, his last words falling from his lips as gently as spring rain, "it's just not worth it."

* * *

Stan and Kenny held their breaths as they edged closer and closer to the main compound, their hearts beating wildly in their chests. Kenny grasped onto the edge of Stan's shirt and stopped him, passing his tongue over his lips. "Okay," he whispered, "Operation Firecracker is a-go."

"The fuck is that?" Stan stared at him in bewilderment.

"Operation Firecracker...ya know...Kyle has red hair...and...h-he's fiery?" he shrugged.

"Ugh," he rolled his eyes. "This is why _you're_ not on intel," he grumbled.

Kenny pouted, "Shuddup. I'm the one who's gonna get us to Kyle. You need to follow my lead."

"Yeah yeah," Stan muttered, glancing at his watch reflected in the moonlight. "Okay, we have eight minutes before Cartman's move..." he paused, staring past the woods towards the main building with worried eyes. "Jesus Christ..." he sighed. "I just hope he's okay."

"From the sounds of it, whoever's in charge wants him kept alive, so I'm sure he's safe," he reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And you know Kyle can handle himself."

"Not if he's tranqed out," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Knowing Ky, he'll outsmart a fucking drug," Ken forced a grin across his face, even though his heart was aching with the thought of the redhead being tied down like that. "C'mon," he jerked his head. "Put the rub on your lip," he directed.

Stan furrowed his brow but did as told, dipping into some of the vat Kenny had brought with him and scrunching his nose at the influx of menthol invading his senses. "Why do we have to do this?" he asked for maybe the twentieth time that night.

Kenny sighed, following suit with the vapor and looking at him sadly. "Stan, what I'm about to show you...where we're about to hide to be able to get to Ky...I hope all that training on your habit of throwing up will stay with us. It's about to get nasty."

Stan stared at him confusedly, watching him edging through the woods towards the wall. He blinked, following after him, both of them quietly creeping over leaves and twigs as they'd seen Kyle do so well so many times in the past. "Fuck how does he do this?" Stan said irritably under his breath as another twig softly snapped under his boot.

"He's like, ninety pounds, that's fucking how," Kenny muttered, shaking his head. His eyes set straight on his target as they reached the wall, curled up like cats ready to pounce. "Okay," he whispered, staring at the wall of the building. "We have to crawl behind these headstones," he gestured towards the front of them as he counted two guards stationed outside the window they needed to get to. He narrowed his eyes. Two tonight, they were definitely wanting to keep Kyle in there. He let out a heavy breath, feeling the crushing guilt that he'd been so close, could've saved the redhead on his own if he'd taken a peek inside the night before. No time like the present. "Follow my lead," he said lowly, silently leaning down on his stomach and starting to shimmy towards the rows of markers.

Stan followed not half a foot behind, both of them watching the Rats across the way cautiously. It was too dark for the guards to be able to make them out, they knew that much, but they couldn't stay out in the open. Their forms could easily be spotted if they stayed in one spot for far too long. Moving like this, curled up and scrunching along made them look like wild animals in the darkness of night, a trick Kyle had taught them months beforehand. They made their way towards the middle of the graveyard and Kenny paused at the foot of the Pit, his hand curled around the edge. "Hold your breath and don't vomit," he warned Stan before sliding down into the abyss.

The noirette squinted in the night, not sure of what he was seeing as he slid down in beside him. He landed on his hands and knees, his fingers curled in what felt like hair. His mouth dropped and Kenny quietly slapped his hand over his agape lips, gritting his teeth and shaking his head viciously. "You scream, Kyle dies," he reminded him in a dark whisper.

Stan gulped, nodding and shutting his mouth under Kenny's palm. He looked down at the decaying corpses beneath him and felt a tear run down his cheek. He couldn't recognize any faces in the moonlight, but the feeling of skin and bone underneath his fingertips chilled him to his core. It ignited that collision of rage and fear that sparked within him so long ago when the whole mess started, when he watched Trent getting shot down right in front of him and Kyle taking a bullet in the arm. "Jesus," he gave a threadbare whisper and shook his head.

Kenny shook his shoulder and he looked up, seeing the blonde pointing to his wrist, indicating for him to check the time. He did so and grabbed Kenny's arm, tapping on it twice. Two minutes left and Cartman's signal would be off and running. They both tensed, looking at each other with blue eyes beaming in the night. Worry and hope racked through their systems, each of them hoping against hope that their half-assed plan would work. Hoping that they wouldn't be caught. Hoping that the team hadn't figured out their attempts and would try to stop them.

Hoping that they weren't about to risk the rescue of a dead friend.

Kenny motioned for him to move behind him, starting to crawl to the other end of the Body Pit. Stan gulped down some excess saliva gathering in his mouth, letting his mind envision that he was clambering through something much less excessively disturbing. He couldn't help but wonder how Kenny knew about the Pit. How he knew something that even Kyle himself had never brought up. The redhead was sure it was just more headstones and never ventured further, considering it way too close to Rat territory to risk. Just how had Kenny gotten the nerve and the luck to be able to discover it? He shook the thoughts out. It wasn't important. The only thing of importance was their mission.

Kenny stopped at the edge, grasping the rope ladder and holding his hand up, telling Stan to wait. He bit his lip, his fingers tightened in a deathly grip around the rung, hoping to God Cartman would be able to get away after his distraction was set into play, praying that the guards would take the bait. He shut his eyes and sniffled, the stress eating at him like ravished termites. He wished he could shut it all down the way that Kyle and Christophe could do on the field, but he just never could. He was made for running, not for confronting. He felt a hand grasp his lightly and squeeze, seeing Stan looking at him with steely, determined eyes. "We'll get him back," he promised softly.

Kenny felt a surge of confidence, seeing Stan of all people so sure of their mission. He nodded and they both flinched a bit as the sound of a gun ricocheted through the night air. Cartman.

In the distance, on the opposite side of the compound in the other side of the forest they heard his shout, _"We got a fucking kid over here! He shot me!"_

Kenny bit his lip, starting to clamber up the rope ladder, peering up at the Rats stationed at Kyle's window. The guards looked at each other, saying something before the both of them pivoted and began sprinting in the direction of Cartman's 'distress' call. A quick glance to the side noted the other Rats beginning to flee as well and Kenny grunted, hopping out of the Pit, helping Stan as well. They crouched down, watching until the Rats had cleared the vicinity and started quickly making their way towards the building. Their eyes kept moving back and forth, watching for any guards who didn't feel the need to investigate a possible next victim. They made it up to the wall and each took a side of the window, peering in.

Stan narrowed his eyes at the boy sitting in the chair next to Kyle's cot, "Holy fuck is that...Michael?"

"That son of a bitch," Kenny snarled, his hand curling around the knife in his pocket. "All right, you open the window, I'll jump in and stab the fucker, and we'll get Kyle out. On my mark."

Stan nodded, watching as Kenny's fingers counted down from five. As soon as it hit one, he jumped to his feet and tore the window up from its cracked position, letting Kenny dive in. Michael yelped and fell off his chair, dropping the book from his hands. "Jesus fucking Christ, McCormick?" he whispered.

"Save it," he hissed, raising the knife and beginning to approach him.

"Wait, no, get Broflovski out!" he said quietly in a rush, raising his hands in mild defense. "I told him I'd let him go if someone came to get him!"

"How do we know we can trust you?" Stan sneered, hopping over beside Kenny, stealing a glance at his unconscious best friend on his cot.

"You just have to," he glared, looking at the door worriedly. "Go, I'll make it look like he got the best of me and got out on his own but you have to go _now_ ," he urged.

Stan and Kenny looked at each other before nodding, each of them moving over to grab their friend. Michael moved over, opening the window wider and helping them maneuver the redhead through the hole. "He'll be out another hour and a half at least," he informed them. "He won't be able to move very well but he regained his speech pretty soon after he woke up last time."

"Thanks," Stan breathed. "We owe you."

Michael stared at them from inside the room and shook his head. "Tell Kyle...I don't think the contract will matter. He'll know what I mean." They nodded and quickly tore off with Kyle in their grasp.

The noirette sighed, watching them for a moment before quickly closing the window and gathering a fresh needle from his kit. He loaded the syringe with his stash of Lorazepam and shook his head. He placed the needle under his skin and injected himself, tossing the needle out onto the ground. He flipped over his chair and his kit, pushing Kyle's cot onto its side. He looked at his scene and felt his eyelids drooping and he slowly sat himself on the ground, lying down and staring at the ceiling. "Good luck, conforming bastard," he yawned, falling limp onto the carpet.

Kenny's arms hefted under Kyle's bound wrists and Stan held his legs like they were their lifelines. They made their way past the side of the building back into the woods, ducking and weaving around tree trunks, their hearts pounding excitedly. "We gotcha Ky," Kenny whispered against the red curls brushing up against his chin. "They ain't gonna getcha again."

"Come on," a voice urged from a decent ways down. They glanced up, seeing Cartman waiting for them impatiently, Sparky held tightly in his hands and looking around nervously for Rats. The two of them picked up speed and Cartman ran beside them, all of them flittering in relief despite the daring escape, despite the fact that they knew it wouldn't be long before what they'd done would be found out. But the fact that it was the four of them together again was enough to put their minds at ease, at least, just for the moment.


	11. Wisdom, Justice, and Love

"Get the door, Cartman," Stan hissed, his eyes darting nervously around the blackened night silhouettes of the town surrounding their base.

"I got it I got it, keep your panties on," Cartman grumbled, putting Sparky against his leg and fumbling with the foliage overtop the hideaway. He managed to creak open the large wooden barrier and let Kenny and Stan pass by him with Kyle still held in their grasp, blissfully unaware of the complete panic that was racing through his friends. Cartman grunted, grabbing Sparky once more and following them down inside, closing the door as softly as he could manage.

"Where ze _shit_ 'ave you been?" Christophe's angry voice appeared from down the hall, hidden around the corner of the main alcove.

They all looked at each other before Stan and Kenny took lead, bringing the redhead in to the complete shock of their teammates.

"How...how on Earth did you..." Gregory's jaw dropped.

Wendy and Bebe rushed over, looking at the boy concernedly. "Lie him on the table, boys," Wendy directed. "Gregory, get that shit out of the way."

The blonde blinked before nodding, grasping at the blueprints scattered about and letting the boys lie Kyle gently on the wooden surface, staring at them with his mouth still gaping. "How did you get him out?" he whispered, shaking his head.

Kenny scoffed, pulling the scarf off of his head and shaking out his blonde hair. "By not being fucking pussies like the rest of you," he sneered. "All it fucking took was some fucking common sense and a distraction. But you fuckers weren't even willing to give Kyle _that._ "

Christophe came up and placed his hands on Stan and Kenny's shoulders, beaming wildly, "Excellent," he nodded approvingly. "You all 'ave done amazing. I'm very proud. And Kyle will be, too."

They all gave him sheepish smiles before looking at Bebe, Wendy, and Rebecca checking Kyle for any kinds of trauma. "I think all they did was tranquilize him," Stan said softly. "Michael said he'd only be out maybe another two hours."

"Michael?" Christophe repeated with a raised brow. "Zat pussy goth kid?"

Ken nodded, "Yeah. He's apparently on the Rat's medical team."

"An infiltrator, perhaps," Gregory pipped up.

Craig snorted, "Doubtful. If he was, he would have broken Broflovski out of there on his own."

Bebe sighed, looking over Kyle's face with gentle fingers, "He's got a few bruises, probably from when he was struggling, but that's about it..." she let her fingers trace over the bullet wound still prominent on the boy's arm. "He's so lucky...it could have been so much worse," she bit her lip.

"They obviously want him for something," Token interjected, staring at the redhead with that guilt still lying in his dark eyes. "I don't think they would have done much worse to him."

Wendy sighed, throwing her long, black hair over her shoulder. "Stan, go get him some clothes. I highly doubt he's been dressed throughout this whole ordeal. He's freezing." Stan nodded and hurried off to Kyle's alcove. He stepped in cautiously, finding Ike lying on Kyle's bed, huddled up on the blanket and clutching the redhead's old, worn green ushanka desperately. He was asleep, his breath shallow and his eyebrows furrowed, soft whimpers escaping him now and again. The noirette smiled at him sadly, grabbing a pair of Kyle's jeans and a shirt folded in the corner before walking over and kneeling down in front of Ike.

"Hey," he whispered, shaking him a bit. Ike groaned, curling into himself more and shaking his head, hiding his face in Kyle's hat. "Ike, get up," he urged. "We have something to show you."

Ike raised his bloodshot eyes from the safety of his brother's treasured possession, sniffling lightly. "Like what?" he croaked, his fingers digging into the dirtied fabric.

"C'mon," he jerked his head. "You'll see," he stood, hiding Kyle's clothes behind his back and offering his hand. Ike stared for a moment before complying and grasping it back, refusing to relinquish it or the hat as they started out down the hall. Stan couldn't help the smirk from spreading over his face as he watched Ike walk with the bottom half of his face hidden in the ushanka, taking deep breaths of the scent of his brother.

They reached the main room and Ike's eyes lazily drifted around before landing on the unconscious boy on the table. His hand with the hat dropped to his side, his mouth falling in the same fashion. "K-Kyle," he croaked, his face breaking into a wider smile than any of them had ever seen on anyone throughout their whole ordeal. The girls and Kenny stepped out of the way as Ike ran up to the boy, clutching around him and burying his face into his shoulder, sobbing happily onto the icy skin. "Thank you," he looked up at Stan and Kenny with waterlogged brown eyes. "Thank you so much."

Stan smirked and shrugged, "Like we'd leave our best friend behind, regardless of whatever the fuck the vote said. You know us better than that, Broflovski."

"'Sides, Cartman helped, too," Ken jerked his thumb back at the heavyweight who was shifting uncomfortably at the mention of his aide. They all stared at the boy in a level of shock at the admittance.

"You?" Clyde raised his brow. "I'd figure you of all people would have rather just let him stay there and rot."

The brunette scowled and rolled his eyes, "He saved me once and now I helped saved him. Now we're even and none of you can _ever_ bring up his fucking little 'heroics' again. Clear?" he snapped.

Ken and Stan smirked at each other knowingly and chuckled. "Yeah," Stan nodded. "We won't bring it up anymore."

"Good," Cartman muttered, handing Stan Sparky and walking over to a chair, plopping down with his arms crossed.

"Wow," Christophe raised his brow. "You let ze fatass 'old Sparky?"

Stan shrugged, brushing his thumb over the barrel lovingly. "Kyle gave me Sparky. Didn't matter who the fuck was holding him, but Sparky got him out of there. Another life debt repaid," he chuckled exhaustedly. "The only important thing was getting him out of there. Now we just have to wait for Kyle to wake up, he'll know what to do."

Gregory looked at the redhead and smiled brightly, "Knowing him, he already knows the layout of the entire compound. He's probably already planned a perfect course of attack."

Christophe sighed, lighting up a cigarette and walking over, staring down at the redhead intensely. "Tweek," he said sharply.

"Y-yeah?" the blonde blinked rapidly.

"Get ze cuff keys we 'ave in ze box," he waved aimlessly. "'is wrists are probably killing 'im. I doubt zhey let 'im out of zhem at any point."

Tweek nodded, tonguing over his lip and heading towards their box of mismatched keys they'd found around town, rummaging through it with Butters aiding him. Christophe continued staring at the boy and Kenny cleared his throat. "Tophe?" he asked, getting a muddled brown stare back. "What's wrong?"

He sighed and shrugged, taking a long drag. "I just do not know what zhey took 'im for. To betray us? To 'ave as ransom? I just wish we knew."

"He'll be up soon," Stan bit his lip. "He'll tell us."

"I 'ope so. I 'ope that he doesn't try to do ze 'onorable z'hing and leave us out of ze loop like 'e tends to do."

Kenny frowned, "Tophe, this is way too important. You know Kyle doesn't hide any Rat information from us."

The brunette nodded, watching as Tweek came up with a key and he snatched it from his thin, shaking fingers. He placed his cigarette in his lips, resting a strong hand on Kyle's shoulder and pushing him over onto his side, undoing the cuffs and shaking his head at the ugly sight revealed under the metal. "Wendy," he directed. "Get ze bandages. 'is wrists are torn to shit."

She grabbed her first aid kit and began dressing Kyle's wrists, wiping them down with antiseptic and binding them each in tight, stark white gauze. Craig and Token stepped up, helping lift him to redress him as the rest of the group stared in awe at the boy. No other kid had been with the Rats and lived. No one else knew a damn thing about them, had any length of a conversation with the enemy. They all looked at each other as Kyle was lied back down on the table, Rebecca placing a pillow under his head. His head fell to the side out towards them, as though he knew they were there. As though he were fighting to get back into consciousness for them. They bit their lips, watching as Christophe's smoke filled the acrid space. All they could do now was wait.

* * *

An agonizing three hours passed over the group, each of them exhaustedly sitting in chairs, waiting for any signs of stirring. Wendy and Bebe occasionally rose from their seats to check Kyle's breathing, but that was as much movement the group dared to convey. They all wanted to be there to see him wake up, to see his utter joy realizing that he was out of the Rat's nest. They wanted to know what the fuck they did to him.

A subtle groan snapped the collective into alert, watching Kyle shifting uncomfortably on the table. Kenny and Stan rose over, pushing past the girls and standing beside him, watching his face intently. "Ky, Ky come on," Stan urged, touching his arm and shaking it gently. "Ya gotta wake up."

"... _Stan?"_ a threadbare whisper crossed the threshold.

"Yeah, yeah it's me," he said excitedly, hardly able to stop joyful tears from streaming down his face. "Come on, Buddy, ya gotta get up."

" _Where?..._ " he started breathing a little heavier, shaking his head around and trying to find the voice.

"You're home, Kyle," Kenny said softly. "You're back at base. Come on, open your eyes."

It seemed to take all the effort in the world, his face twisting almost painfully as he tried to fulfill the request. He let out a heavy, angered sigh, his head lolling around in disorientation. He felt that damning drifting again, unable to clear the fuzziness from his head. Stan and Kenny's voices did little to calm his nerves, unable to comprehend Kenny telling him that he was back home. He started to panic, thinking they'd been captured with him. "No..." he cried out, his body trying to jerk itself into motion.

"Boys, out of the way," Wendy ordered, pushing them aside and placing a hand on Kyle's forehead while Bebe grasped his shoulder gently. "Kyle, Sweetie, you're safe."

"No, no, no," he shook his head as quickly as he could manage, his teeth gritting, his eyes still unable to pry themselves open. "Not...leave them...no..." he had tears trickling down his cheeks, completely unhinged.

"Sweetie, Sweetie it's okay," Bebe urged, petting his hair softly. "Kyle you're just fine. We're all here. No one is in danger."

Kyle's mouth fell a bit and he gulped in some air, his throat throbbing something awful. He wanted to believe the sweet voices ringing in his ears. But he couldn't tell if he was dreaming. He was completely lucid, his heart pounding in utter distraught. He could very well still be in the Rat's clutches, fighting against men holding him down and he'd never know it. "L-lemme go," he pleaded. "I-I don't...I can't..." he tried moving his arms, finding them at his sides, no longer restrained behind them. It only made him all the more confused. He still couldn't move them, as though the air itself was holding him down, telling him to submit.

"Michael said he got better really quickly after the last time he woke up," Stan whispered, staring at his best friend with wide, scared eyes.

Wendy looked at him in shock, "They _double_ dosed him?"

"I...I would assume?" he shrugged.

"Fuck, no wonder he's fucking delusional," she set her lips in a grim, angry line. "We gotta wake him up before he loses it completely and he's out for another twelve hours."

"'ow do we do zhat?" Christophe grated his lip.

"Ike, Ike you talk to him," Bebe motioned him over.

Ike hurried to his brothers side, grasping at his hand and watching his panicking face worriedly. "Kyle? Kyle it's me, it's Ike," he gulped. "Ky, you gotta wake up. You have to!"

"I-Ike...no..." he gasped out, scratching wildly with fumbling fingers. "G-gotta...Ike, run..." he coughed.

"No, come on, Kyle," he begged. "No one needs to run. You just need to open your eyes. We're all here and we're just waiting for you. Come on...please..." he sobbed out, not used to seeing his ever-sharp brother on the brink of madness. Kyle let out a long-winded cry, his body still shaking uncontrollably.

"Fuck me, he's gonna pass out again," Wendy breathed, reaching under Kyle's head and holding it upright. "We gotta...ugh..." she groaned. "Ken, Stan, sit him up." They both took a side of Kyle's back, hoisting him upright. The boy's head dropped forward and Wendy pushed it back to clear his airway, watching his rapidly moving eyes under thin lids.

"Wake up, Jew!" Cartman's voice finally broke through, walking over and staring at him angrily.

"Car...Cart..." Kyle meekly responded, trying to find the source of the noise.

"Eric...don't yell at-" Butters started before Kenny stopped him.

"No! Cartman, fucking piss him off!" he ordered.

The brunette smirked. "Well since you asked so nicely. Kahl, get the fuck up you money-grubbing no good Jew!" The barest essence of a growl escaped the redhead's throat, his mouth gaping open for deep, desperate breaths. "Come on, don't tell me being with the Rats for _one day_ made you a pussy like them," he drawled, watching with glee as he was able to get away with his words, everyone hoping that they'd work.

"His arms are tensing, is that good?!" Stan blinked.

"Yes, it means he's coming around," Wendy nodded. "Eric, keep fucking going!"

"C'mon, Jewrat," he urged, crossing his arms and raising his brow at the boy. "Some fucking leader you are. The only thing you seem to be good for is being a whiny little pussy-ass kike!" he shouted. Green eyes slowly started emerging from their lashed prisons, fluttering madly.

"He's waking up, put him back down," Bebe ordered, helping the others slowly lower him back onto his back.

"...Fuck...you...Fat...ass..." Kyle breathed out angrily, his eyes trying to focus hazily on the dirt ceiling above him.

"Oh thank fuck," Kenny couldn't help but laugh, brushing his hair back. "He's still in there."

The group all looked at each other and each of them sighed in relief, glancing back at the redhead still trying to gather his bearings. He blinked and groaned, arching up uncomfortably. "Where the fuck..." he narrowed his brows.

Stan and Kenny popped up over him and his pupils shrunk madly, "You're home, Ky," Kenny grinned cheekily.

Kyle blinked in shock, looking at his two friends, wondering if he was caught in a dream again. "Is...is it real?" he whispered.

Stan nodded, "Yeah, Dude. It's real."

"I...I can't..." he gulped, trying to sit up and finding himself unable to and he groaned in frustration.

"You're still a little drugged, Sweetie," Wendy cooed. "Do you want to sit up?" Kyle nodded, licking over his dry lips and sniffling. "All right, let's get two chairs and set him up," she directed.

Clyde and Craig each handed over their chairs, watching as Stan and Kenny lifted the redhead and put him down into them, placing his legs into one to help keep his balance. "How's that, Ky?" Kenny asked, brushing ember tendrils from his eyes.

"Thank you," he rasped.

Tweek frowned, walking over with his water bottle and holding it by Kyle's face. "Do you need a-a drink?" he asked timidly. Kyle nodded and Tweek bit his lip, leaning the boy's head back and giving him the rim of the bottle. The boy blinked, letting the water rush into his mouth, gulping as well as he could, feeling the pain in his parched throat subsiding. He could vaguely feel two trails of the liquid rushing down either side of his mouth and dribbling down his neck but he couldn't care less, just thankful for the moment of reprieve. Tweek took back his bottle and Kyle coughed, giving him a small, weak smile. Tweek nodded briskly and backed up between Craig and Clyde against the wall, staring at him with the rest of the team.

Kyle finally shook his head and sighed, his mind finally starting to reach him once again. "How did I get here?" he asked softly.

"Me, Ken, and Cartman broke you out," Stan said, grabbing his own chair and sitting beside the redhead, Kenny taking the other end. "We tricked the Rats into thinking one of us shot one of their fucking soldiers."

Kyle smiled and nodded approvingly in soft, subtle motions, his eyes slipping closed. "I told you you're smart enough for intel," he chuckled.

"Are you okay, Kyle?" Kenny asked, staring at him concernedly. "Did they hurt you or anythin'?"

He shook his head a bit. "No. Got punched a few times but..." he opened his eyes back up as realization struck him. The deal. Oh no. His face fell into horror and the team recoiled a bit.

"Kyle? Kyle what iz it?" Christophe frowned.

The redhead looked up around them and bit his lip. "Guys...you...you shouldn't have...I have to..." he looked towards the entrance of the base and gulped. His eyes scanned over the group, landing on Gregory. "Did you find somewhere to hide the kids?" he asked lowly.

He shook his head slowly, "Kyle...I-I don't think we have anywhere that we _could_..."

"Bullshit," he growled, his eyes beginning to spark back with that determination that filled his teammates with a flood of relief. "Get me my blueprints. Now," he barked.

"Jesus, awake for five minutes and he's back to normal," Token chuckled as Gregory hurriedly grabbed the papers from the floor behind the table.

Kyle looked at him and took a shuddery breath. "I don't have _time_ to not do this," he said angrily. "I...fuck," he spat, grating his lip in fury. He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. This wasn't good. He was here. He wasn't where he could prevent things from going wrong...

He opened them to Gregory's voice, "Here," he said. "I think you'll find that _you_ won't find any options, either," he frowned indignantly.

Kyle scoffed, trying to raise his arms to grab the papers and unable to do so. He growled, "Oh for the love of-"

"We got it, Ky," Stan said hurriedly, knowing full and well that his best friend's patience was wearing off. He and Kenny opened it over Kyle's lap, watching his analytical eyes scanning through every possible out. He smirked and looked up at Gregory with a snort.

"How long did you study this, Gregory?"

He raised his brow, "Since your transmission this morning."

"Jesus fucking Christ I _knew_ I should've taken you on raids," he shook his head. "The community center," he looked around at the team.

Christophe raised his brow, "Zat is where zhey keep ze supplies. Not exactly ze most subtle place to 'ide zhem."

He grinned crookedly, "But it's not that well protected and it's the only building big enough to get all of the kids into. Remember, it's separated from the rest of town, they don't have much in that area to watch over," he reminded them, his eyes scanning down the lot. "There's usually ten guards surrounding the outskirts of the building and two inside. There's eight of us usually on the field. We each take a fucking gun, snipe them down as quickly as possible with silencers to keep from making too big of a ruckus, and get the kids inside. If we rush the two within the building, we'll take control back in no time. Then we just have people stationed outside for stray Rats that may want to come investigate."

"And just how do we keep all the Rats from rushing _us,_ hm?" Gregory crossed his arms, obviously embarrassed that he hadn't even began to think of a plan and Kyle managed to do it in three minutes under the influence of a sedative.

Kyle frowned, his shoulders sinking sadly. He bit his lip as Kenny and Stan threw the prints behind them, knowing that expression of his anywhere. "Ky?" Kenny asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Can't think of anything?" Gregory raised his brow.

Kyle took a deep breath and looked him straight on, the steely green of his eyes fading back in and making the blonde jerk a tad in fright. "I know _exactly_ what to do..." he looked around at the team again and sighed. "We get the kids in there, we keep them protected and...and I give them _me_."

They all blinked at him in confusion. "What...whaddya mean?" Stan squeaked.

"They want me. Their commander...he...he wants me to lead an army for him..." he gritted his teeth furiously, seeing that damning gentle smile circulating his mind. "The _Rats_ killed our parents, they wanted us to go feral, to become a town of soldier kids. Ones that couldn't remember what they were fighting for, they just wanted to find an enemy and rip them to shreds..."

"Jesus..." Gregory backed away from him and stood beside Christophe who was staring in shock at the boy.

"Kyle," he said gruffly, waiting until pools of green locked into his stare. "What do zhey want you for?"

He shrugged as much as his limited movements allowed. "He wants me to come with them and...take another town," he lowered his eyes guiltily. "He wants me to infiltrate the kids left behind and train them to becoming the 'perfect society'," he mocked.

"Why only you, though?" Craig raised his brow.

"Isn't it obvious?" Christophe scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Kyle iz ze only one who can fight _and_ z'hink. Zhere's a reason we weren't making progress with 'im gone."

Kyle blushed and sighed, "Yeah. Their commander pretty much put me on a fucking pedestal..." he shuddered. "They've been watching me for over a year, just waiting for me...H-he told me the _only_ reason they hadn't killed all the kids yet is that they were waiting for me...to have something to hold over my head and get me on their side."

"Ah, zhey said either you join or zhey kill us all, oui?" Tophe raised his brow.

"Yeah," he nodded, gulping. "I...I kinda wish you hadn't rescued me," he looked at Stan and Kenny with glistening eyes. "You know I appreciate it...but now everyone's in danger because of me...I have to go back."

"You _can't_!" Stan protested. "Kyle, you'll be part of a group killing kids!"

"Well they're going to kill kids whether I'm there or not, Stan!" he shot back furiously. "Fuck, you think I don't fucking _know_ what this entails? But at least if I comply with them, I can save South Park's kids. Maybe I can train another town's kids to rebel and take the Rats down and end it once and for all...maybe..." he trailed off staring at the ceiling with misted eyes, panting from his outburst. This was too much. His heart felt pulled in every direction.

The group fell silent, watching Kyle carefully with sympathetic gazes, each of them feeling the weight of his decision within the confines of the room. "Kyle..." Christophe said quietly. "You...you cannot do zhis. You are dooming yourself if you do."

"What else _can_ I do, Tophe?" he lowered his head and looked at him desperately. "It's me or them. One life is _not_ worth so many others...I..." he dropped his head down and sniffled, his reserve beginning to break with the strain of his circumstance. Ike came over and gently wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding onto his older brother tightly.

"Please don't, Kyle," he begged him, clasping onto him tighter. "I can't lose you again," he whispered.

Kyle bit his lip, looking out of the corner of his eye at his distraught brother and feeling his heart breaking. He couldn't imagine what Ike had been through the past day, he knew well enough that if the situations were reversed, he would have been a complete disaster. "Ike...I...have to..."

"No, you don't," he said firmly, tears leaking down onto Kyle's shoulder. "Don't be a martyr for this. You'd sooner die than be a Rat and you know it."

Kyle's body limply sunk at his words and he nodded. "I know," he whispered. "But...I'd also rather be a Rat than watch other people die because I couldn't swallow my fucking pride."

"Don't be a fucking pussy," Cartman hissed. Kyle looked up at him in shock with the rest of them as the brunette fumed. "We risked _everything_ to save your scrawny ass and you just wanna crawl back to them with your fucking Jew tail between your legs?"

"Cartman I-"

"No," he cut him off. "You shut the _fuck_ up and you listen to me for once in your no good life." Kyle nodded slowly and he took a deep breath. "The Rats aren't going to fucking change because of _you_. They may be obsessed with getting you on their team, but they're always going to be bloodthirsty pieces of shit. And it's going to end one of two ways for you:" he glared. "Either you're going to be killed because you won't train kids up to their standards, or you're going to turn into an equally war-hungry piece of shit. Kids are going to die no matter _what_ you do. So, Kahl, would you rather die as your usual moralistic piece of shit self, fighting for what you actually give a fuck about? Or are you okay just going out as another Rat bastard to throw in that graveyard?"

Kyle's mouth dropped at his words, staring at the brunette in shock. He gulped and dropped his gaze to the floor, searching around desperately for his answer. "But...I...and they...kids..." he gritted his teeth again, shaking in his place.

Kenny placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and rubbed the muscle tenderly. "Kyle, Michael said to tell you 'the contract probably won't matter'...does that mean anything to you?"

The redhead nodded slowly and grated over his lip. He shut his eyes and took a long, shuddery breath. "Now I'm right back to square one," he whispered.

"Whaddya mean?" Clyde asked.

"I mean I'd made up my mind about what I was going to do...now I'm not so-" he stopped as a voice that made him go rigid entered the room.

"The bug again?" Gregory raised his brow. Ike blinked, walking over and retrieving the receiver, setting it on the table and once again raising the volume.

" _Mr. Broflovski, I do hope you're listening,"_ Peter's voice rang clear. _"And if not, I'm sure your little friends will pass the message on."_

"How the fuck..." Kyle whimpered.

" _I must say, Mr. Broflovski, at first I honestly thought you chose this room to run to to get to the window. But then I find this crafty little bug on the floor and well, I can tell you're much too resourceful to think you can leap out of a guarded window and get away. You killed three men just to get a message to your friends. Wonderfully brutal,"_ he laughed. _"Tell your friends good job on rescuing you, though. Michael is still unconscious, but he'll wake up in his cell and figure it all out,"_ he chuckled a bit. Kyle growled as the rest of the team stared blankly at the receiver.

" _I know how hard this must be on you, Kyle. Finding yourself with your friends once again but knowing just what it is you need to do. You know exactly what side of this battle you need to be on, but I understand your hesitation. I will give you until seven o' clock this evening. When that time comes, I want you to meet me in front of the main building to discuss your future. I will do you a kindness and not have any of your friends shot down should they stand by you, that is, unless you fail to comply with our generous offer. The clock is counting down, Mr. Broflovski. Don't let your family fall because of your pride. I'll see you then,"_ he finished before the transmission cut out completely.

Ike frowned, shaking his head, "Bastard broke it," he mumbled before looking at his older brother who was looking beyond petrified. "Kyle..." he started.

The redhead stared blankly at his legs, his eyes brimming with anxiety. "What do I do?" he whispered finally, shaking his head.

Christophe got to his feet, walking over in front of the redhead. He bent down, grabbing Kyle's chin and staring at him with determined eyes. "You do what you are best at, Broflovski," he said firmly. "You use your smarts and figure out what iz best. We will support you either way."

"But...but..."

"Non," he shook him a bit. "No matter what, _you_ must decide for yourself what iz best. You 'ave 'eard our opinions. You take until tonight to figure it out. We will gather ze kids and hide zhem away while you do so."

Kyle nodded meekly. "I...I'm so sorry," he shook his head.

"Don't be sorry," Stan frowned. "Ky, _you_ didn't start this war."

Kyle looked at him with saddened, sunken green eyes, his best friend's chest twisting at the sight of them. So rare was it that Kyle showed any signs of emotion besides anger anymore. It was so unusual now to see any sign of him breaking under the pressures of a decision. Stan had to shake himself back into reality as Kyle's gentle tone broke back through the room. "No, I didn't. But I get to decide how it ends."


	12. Iridescent

The beginning of dawn was rising up across the horizon. He couldn't see it past the wall, couldn't see the sun starting its descent up into the sky, the cruel taunt that constantly reminded him of what they were: trapped. And never before had Kyle felt _so_ trapped. Not when he was locked in the basement by Cartman when they were kids. Not when his mom grounded him for three months for telling her that Abraham could shove it up his ass for something-or-other they were arguing about. Not even when he was tied to a chair in the Nest. He had no idea where to turn anymore. For so _long_ he'd found everyone relying on him, giving direct orders and watching them follow it to the letter. But he didn't _want_ that responsibility, it came out of pure necessity.

This war was the furthest thing from necessary.

He shivered, grabbing his jacket from beside him and pulling it over its arm. His nose crinkled a bit. It stank like dirt and blood and sweat; the constant cologne that seemed to follow the team wherever they went. They washed their clothes in Starks whenever they could, but it was never something that they felt the constant need to do anymore. His finger traced over a hole in the fabric of his right sleeve, flickering his eyes down and grimacing at the bloodstain that he could never seem to wash away. It felt like so long ago he'd watched Trent's last breath, seen his first kill in the thick of it all. So long ago that he took a bullet in the arm because he couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut. His finger scraped lightly over his scar. It was a nasty, ugly gnarled thing. A knife digging through the skin and muscle wasn't exactly the most ideal of surgical procedures, but it was better than nothing. It'd long since healed, but the _idea_ of what he was going to be thrown into made it throb dully, a reminder that he was human; that he could still break.

He sniffled, bringing his knees up to his chest and staring out over Starks with glistening eyes. He had to get out of the base, he couldn't stand everyone looking at him so worriedly. It'd taken another few hours before he had any use of his legs, and he practically ran out of the base as quickly as he could. The looks on their faces just stopped his heart. They all knew he was completely torn on the subject at hand, that even he couldn't just think his way out of this one. He couldn't make an impassioned speech and change everyone's mind and bring it all to a standstill. It just didn't work like that anymore.

"You're gonna catch a cold, ya know," a soothing voice washed over him. He looked back to see Kenny smiling at him crookedly, shoving Kyle's hat down on his head. "That jacket's seen better days."

He chuckled softly, "Yours, too, Bud." Ken looked down at his ratted parka, once the only thing that could keep him hidden from the world now torn to shreds. It bared his humanity, the one thing that the blonde hated to share.

He sighed, plopping down next to the redhead and looking at him with soft cerulean eyes. "Kyle, are you okay?"

He shrugged, nuzzling his chin down into his knees. "I...I really don't know, Ken," he answered truthfully. "Have you ever felt like...like the world weighed on you and _only_ you? I don't _want_ to be in the center..." he sighed irritably and hid his face in his legs. " _Why me?_ " he whispered.

"Because you're too fucking smart for your own good, I've told you that a million goddamn times," another voice popped up. Kyle glanced to his right, seeing Stan and Cartman sitting on his other side staring at him. Stan smiled at him as reassuringly as he could muster, "Ky, you've been in the middle of conflicts like this a ton of times. You'll figure it out."

"But it's _not_ the same," he said exasperatedly, uncurling his legs and leaning back propped up on his hands. He dug his fingers into the dewy grass and stared back out over the pond. "It's so different now. It's not me just trying to tell the adults that they're fucking stupid and to get over themselves. It's me being forced to choose between killing this town or killing the next..." he shook his head. "God guys, I'm so fucking lost right now. I've never felt like this."

They were silent a moment, following his stare out and over the pond. They knew he was right. They knew this wasn't something that he could weasel out of. Someone was going to die at the end of the day, and Kyle unfortunately was dubbed the executioner.

Kenny started laughing softly and they looked at him in confusion. "Do you guys remember how the four of us would come out here and fish? And...and one time Cartman got so mad that Kyle caught a bigger fish than he did that he threw him in the pond?"

"My hospital record from the resulting pneumonia remembers it well," Kyle rolled his eyes bemusedly.

"And if I remember correctly, the three of us went in while Fatass was sleeping and shaved his head after that whole incident," Stan smirked.

Cartman scoffed, "Whateva. I looked hot anyway so you never really got your revenge."

"Yeah. Hot," Kyle looked at him with a raised brow. "Items of your mass tend to be nothing but hot air." Cartman grabbed a handful of dirt, leaning past Stan and wailing it at the boy. The redhead laughed with the other two and brushed off the dust while Cartman muttered under his breath. Kyle looked at the three of them and cocked his head a bit once they settled, "How'd you guys find me, by the way?"

Stan shrugged, "Because this is where you _always_ come when life is kicking you in the balls."

"Tell ya what, this kick may finally be the one to make it so I can't procreate," he muttered, leaning his cheek into his hand and sighing. "It's so weird but I keep wondering what my _parents_ of all people would tell me to do," he winced. "I mean, I haven't depended on them for so long, even before all this mess started. But right now all I want is for my mom to lecture me on the proper way to eat my gefilte fish and my dad to just be sitting there mumbling his agreements."

Kenny placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded, "I get that. Hell you know how shit-tacular my parents were, but I'd like to see 'em again. Watch 'em throwin' Pabst cans at my head. Cuddlin' up with Kevin and Kar-," he paused and flinched, swallowing his tears down. "Karen to keep warm," he finished in a deadened whisper. The boys looked at him with heavy eyes. Losing Karen damn near killed Kenny. He'd done what Kyle had done with Ike, done _everything_ to hide and protect her. But the one moment he wasn't looking, she was taken off in the death vans. That nearly broke him, until he realized that crushing in the Rats' heads would do more than him teetering on the edge of madness.

Kyle smiled softly at him and returned the gesture on his shoulder. "Hey, now she's _your_ angel," he said gently.

"Pft," Kenny laughed, rubbing his eyes with his arm and blowing his bangs out of his face. "You're a corny motherfucker, Broflovski."

He shrugged sheepishly, "When _haven't_ we been corny motherfuckers in these kinds of situations? I mean, Jesus Christ, we were the voices of reason so many goddamn times we should have opened up a fucking fortune cookie factory."

"Like they could've fit one of your massive Jew speeches on a piece of paper," Cartman scoffed.

Stan chuckled, "He's got a point."

"Oh gee, thanks," Kyle shoved him a bit, looking back towards the water. He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "Guys?" They looked at him curiously. "Just...just imagine for one minute that you're me. Think about... _all_ those kids. Think about what you'd have to do. Think about knowing that if you do this, you're going to wake up every morning just wanting to fucking kill yourself but knowing that you can't because then even _more_ kids will die..." he paused, biting his lip and dropping his shoulders. "What would _you_ do?" he finished in a whisper.

The three of them looked at each other with sorrowful, darkened eyes. It was a fair question, one that they had been expecting upon following him out to the pond. The only problem was, none of them really knew how to answer the inquiry. It was definitely a dangerous dance to think about, one where the wrong move sent everything spiraling completely out of control. Being the one leading the waltz was a lot to bear, even hypothetically.

"I..." Stan started, licking his lips and feeling the others staring at him intently. "If I were _you_ , like, legitimately Kyle Broflovski you..." he turned and looked at his best friend and smiled a bit. "I'd be able to figure a way out of this. I'd be able to find a way to save the kids and myself. Because I'd be a stubborn-ass motherfucker and not be willing to lose," he shrugged.

Kyle laughed softly and ran his fingers up under his hat, scratching at his hair. "I think even my trademarked stubborn ass can't worm outta this one, Stan." He looked between them all and sighed, "Between the two _viable_ options, which one do you think is best for everyone?"

Kenny frowned, "There's not only two options. You're Kyle fucking Broflovski. You _always_ make a third one. Those Rat fuckers want you because you're smarter than they are, Dude. You can outmaneuver them any day of the week, and this is no different."

He looked at him skeptically, "Okay, for one thing, you people are sounding as fucking amazed by my existence as their commander, so knock off the compliments. For another, if it weren't for you three, I'd still be knocked out in cuffs right now. They _can_ get the better of me..." he trailed off a bit and rubbed his arms self-consciously. "I...I feel like them capturing me just...shook my confidence in the whole thing, ya know?" he winced. "It's like now I know that they can beat me, they can tie me down and make me into their fucking puppet...For the first time since this whole mess started, I feel like we can't win," he whispered.

They stared at him, their hearts sinking at his words. "Ky..." Stan started before Kyle looked up at him with those glazed eyes again that sent the noirette's heart spiraling into blackness.

"Stan, you know me better than _anyone_ ," he reminded him. "When have you seen me lose like that?"

"I...I haven't," he answered honestly. "But Kyle, the _only_ reason they 'got the best of you' was dumb luck. If that fucking branch hadn't broken, you and I would've gotten home and we would've just been listening to the bug's reports and you'd be planning our next attack. You didn't fail because of _you_ ," he bit.

"And what if I'm unlucky again?" he frowned angrily, grabbing a rock next to him and hurling it into the pond. "This next time it isn't just _my_ ass on the line, it's everybody's! And...and I don't know if I can handle that..." he slammed his hands over his eyes and shook his head. "Jesus Christ why is this so fucking hard?" he whimpered.

"Because you're being a pussy-assed Jew about it, that's why," Cartman rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Kahl, stop being such a drama queen."

"I'm not being a fucking drama queen!" he hissed. "Cartman you have no _fucking_ idea what I'm in the middle of here! I'm...I'm literally the only person on the front line against a goddamn army!"

"And you're sitting here bitching about it instead of doing what you know how to do and planning an out!" he retorted sharply. "Jew, wake the fuck up, brush off your fucking martyr syndrome, and make a fucking _plan._ "

Kenny cleared his throat, "His words are...wrong," he said softly to the fuming redhead. "But...in a way he's right. Sitting here and moping over the decision won't get you anywhere, Ky. You have to figure out what to do that doesn't involve you handing yourself over. We're not stupid. We _know_ that's what you would decide on..." he sighed as Kyle slowly looked over at him, shining eyes blinking at him innocently. It shook the blonde's nerve a bit. He hadn't seen Kyle looking so much like a child in so long, so lost and confused with someone needing to hold his hand. It was old territory that he would have to relearn. "Kyle, you're too important to us for us to just watch you put your hands behind your fucking back and be drug off."

"If I go with them, then the team doesn't need me any-"

"No," he snapped. "I mean _you._ Not 'badass military leader' Kyle. I mean 'my friend who always gives me the other half of his sandwich' Kyle."

"Dude, doing this fighting...it's been killing you," Stan interjected softly, drawing his attention back over. "This is the most emotion we've seen out of you in years."

He shied down and blushed a bit, clearing his throat. "Well...Christophe told me that I had to be strong or no one would...I guess I just took it to heart. But now I feel so fucking weak. I feel like the walls are crumbling down...and not the one that I _want_ to fall," he gestured to the stone behemoth across the way.

"The only way that walls gonna fall is if you're there to help us with the hammer, Dude," Stan said. "If you leave, the only thing that'll happen with that wall is it'll get more plants on it. Because if you do this, if you go with them...who's to say they're not training kids to fight on _homeland_ territory? What if you'd be leading a mass American genocide?"

Kyle's face dropped and he gulped. "I...I guess I just assumed that..."

"And maybe it _is_ for actual war," Kenny interceded, realizing that Kyle was starting to break from extra options being laid on him. He grasped his arm gently and shook him. "But either way, you're not built for this. Don't get me wrong, you're awesome at what you do here, but you shouldn't be. You _hate_ violence. You hate so many people depending on you. Your team numbers will be _huge_ if you go through with this."

"Don't Jew out," Cartman offered unhelpfully.

Kyle looked at them and shook his head. "Fuck me, I don't...I just want to go back in time, ya know?" he bit his lip. "I want to tell my parents I love them. I want to send Ike up to Connecticut to stay with our aunt so he wouldn't have to live like this. I just want...to stop this all before it even happened." he looked up at the sky turning lavender and sniffled. "Now my only options are stop it before it gets further or lead it on into the fucking night...and I don't know _how_ to stop it," he admitted. "Like I said, it's me versus everyone. I feel so lost."

Stan looped his arm around Kyle's shoulders and shook him a bit, "Do you remember when we were kids? How you stood up in front of so many people so many goddamn times and talked your way out of a battle?" Kyle nodded softly, leaning his head on Stan's shoulder with a sniffle. "Do _that_."

"Talking won't get us anywhe-"

"No," he paused him. "I mean go with your fucking instinct. Whatever your gut is telling you is the right thing to do, it's never taken you down the wrong way before."

"Ignore the instinct of your dirty Jew ancestors past, though," Cartman smirked. "Finding a sale on bagels won't help us any. HEY!" he shouted as Stan punched his arm, wincing and rubbing the appendage.

Kyle stared out past the pond over the wall, watching the very peak of the sun finally starting to crest over the stony blockade. He felt Kenny slide over and hold around him, too, all four of them staring at it in awe. "It's still out there," Kyle whispered.

"What is?" Kenny asked.

"The outside," he clarified. "It's still out there. Sometimes...you forget, ya know? Sometimes all you can think about is base or the Rats or something...but there's so much outside of here that they tried to make us forget."

"We're South Park kids," Stan smirked. "We're stubborn as fuck. They could never make us forget."

Kenny grinned at Kyle, "And you're the most stubborn of 'em all, Ky. You know how to get all of us back to the outside. We just need you to lead the masses into the fire," he flourished his arm dramatically across the sunrise.

Kyle froze at the words, his green eyes widening. The three of them looked at him with cocked brows as a sly grin slowly slid up his slender face. They couldn't help but smile back. They knew that face. It'd been the one that'd saved their asses time and again, and it wasn't ever more appreciated than in that moment. "Kyle?" Stan asked, his eyes dancing in excitement. "What's the plan?"

The redhead looked at them all and smirked, getting to his feet, helping Stan and Kenny up to theirs while Cartman struggled to stand up at their speed. "It's a long shot, but if we do it right, we'll end this fucking war once and for all."

"And just _how_ do we do it?" Cartman crossed his arms impatiently.

That familiar stony gleam flashed back into Kyle's eyes and their grins grew wider. He chuckled deviously, pink tongue darting over his lips with a soft murmur, "Those fuckers don't know the half of what we can do. If they really wanted to take this plan of theirs further..." he paused and stared out at the sun with a small huff of a laugh, "they _never_ should have started with South Park."


	13. Fallout

The eight of them could feel the hair on the back of their necks standing on end, the afternoon sun blazing down onto the lot of them through the dense pines they were slowly wading through. The dirt smudged on their faces was beginning to dry and crack, their cheeks itching something fierce. Lightweight rifles rested in their hands, each finger held behind their trigger, waiting for an unsuspected enemy to breech their stealth mission. A trip that usually took five minutes up the hill towering above the community center suddenly was a twenty minute endeavor, each step oh-so-cautious and aware of just what it was they were setting out to do. This wasn't a typical raid this time around, this was a potential kamikaze.

Kyle stopped the group with a firm hand held back behind him, each of them freezing in place. They could see him looking around the foliage, his nose wrinkling trying to pick up the fresh, showered scent that Rats had the privilege of carrying with them. He nodded sharply when the clear was given and they huddled in around each other. Cartman, Kenny, Stan, Christophe, Token, Craig, Clyde, and Kyle all knew just what came next. They knew that there was an unusually high potential that at least one of them wouldn't be able to carry out the rest of the mission should things go awry. But they pushed that fear down into their toes, knowing full and well that any hint of fear would do nothing more than bring about disaster.

"All right," Kyle said softly, looking at each of them firmly. "Here's where we split, you all know the men you're to aim for, correct?" They all nodded and Kyle gave them as much of a smirk as he could manage in the chalked dirt over his pale features. "Craig, Clyde, and Token, you all need to trek towards to the front of the building, they have three stationed there. Stan and Kenny, you two hit the East side. Cartman, take the West, it's the least suspected to get attacked since all that's there is a dumpster. Think you can take out two on your own?"

"Please, Jewboy," he scoffed quietly. "All I have to do is pretend its you and Rambo himself couldn't outshoot me."

"At this point, go right ahead and tape pictures of me to them if it fucking helps you," he rolled his eyes. "Christophe and I will get the three in the back. Now, the front side will be taken down last, do you understand?" he stared specifically at Craig, Clyde, and Token. They nodded briskly. "Good. Stan, time?"

Stan checked his watch, "3:58," he read.

"All right then, we have seventeen minutes to take these fuckers down and make sure we aren't trailed. The girls, Butters, and Tweek should have gotten the kids that they can over this way by then. Ike and Gregory hopefully will be over at about 4:20 with the documents I need..." he trailed off and looked at the team with a heavy sigh. "Cartman, you're going to start the assault. Get them both down, in two shots, do you understand?"

"I know how to fucking shoot a guy, Jew!" he snapped.

Christophe smacked him on the head, "'e iz your commander and you will respect him, Tubby!"

"Ay!"

"Shut the fuck up and keep your emotions under control, Cartman," Kyle scowled. They didn't have time for this. Three hours before Kyle would have to face the Rats and every second was too precious to waste on pathetic bantering. He looked around at the boys and shook his head. "Guys, I know I say this every fucking time, but this time around, I'm dead serious: We have _one_ shot. We tested the scopes, they all work fine. If you miss, you have absolutely _no one_ to blame but yourselves, do you understand me?"

They all nodded and Clyde spoke up, "Who's after Cartman?"

"Ken and Stan," he nodded at the boys. "Then Christophe and I, then you three follow. Remember: One person shoots at a time. The suppressers will only do so much, and your own targets will realize what's happening, but if we have more than one going off, it's going to alert more Rats."

"What happens if more come?" Token blinked.

"You three plus Stan and Kenny are going to remain in your positions until the kids come along. Any Rats that wander by, snipe them down," he narrowed his brow tightly. "Tophe, Cartman, and I will go from our positions and come to the front. We'll take out any of the Rats on the inside of the building and relinquish it from their hold. If we do this right, we're going to have a lot of firepower on our side. So let's just hope that the kids of the town will listen to the girls and Butters and Tweek and come help us."

"They will, Ky," Kenny nodded. "We'll take these fuckers down."

"Don't get cocky, Ken," he looked over at the blonde. "Remember, we've done that before and we've slipped. This is the time that we need to be on our toes and remember what the end result is: We get our fucking lives back. Count the shots you hear before you make yours, understood? Don't forget that Cartman has two and myself and Tophe have three..." he paused and let out a deep breath. "Good luck, remember to not let them scurry and remember to make sure your guns are on semi-auto, all right? Let's do this."

They nodded and he signaled for them all to split apart. Clyde, Craig and Token made their way up the left side of the hill, the remainder taking the right. Christophe and Kyle walked neck and neck, each pair of calculating, steel-laced eyes focused on their target. Kenny, Stan, and Cartman couldn't help but glance around nervously, just waiting for someone to come along and spoil their plot.

"Do not act like pussies now," Tophe looked back and spit at them in a harsh whisper. "Zhis is ze final conflict, you must be strong."

"Guys, it'll be okay," Kyle reassured them softly, a hint of the old Kyle flashing back through his eyes. They instantly all relaxed at least in the slightest, knowing that seeing that was usually a good sign. Kyle was confident that they could pull it off, otherwise he would have already sauntered up to the Rat leader and handed himself over. He knew they had the ability and the skill, and a part of him flashed back to how Stan said the Rats only got the best of him because of luck. He couldn't help but hope that this time, that luck was on his side.

Cartman stopped off, crouching behind a tree and staring at the West side of the brick and his two targets. He looked up to see Kyle holding up four fingers. Four minutes before the first shot. He mirrored the action to show he understood. Kyle paused and opened his mouth a bit to say something before simply nodding at him curtly. Cartman blinked and nodded back, watching as the remaining four crept away towards their own positions. The heavyweight looked down at his watch, watching the seconds ticking by agonizingly slow.

Stan, Kenny, Kyle, and Christophe continued along the hill, silently and ducking behind trees. Stan vaguely remembered how they once _played_ army on this hill. Himself and Kyle fighting for the US and Cartman and Kenny fighting for Australia in what they called the Wallaby War. It was all fun and ducking around trees making 'pew pew' sounds until Cartman told Kyle he couldn't fight for America because of his 'dirty' Israeli ancestory and they ended up brawling until Cartman couldn't walk for a few days and Kyle was blinded by two black eyes. He couldn't help the small smile on his face at the memory: each of them forming battle cries, each of them 'fighting' for what they believed was 'right'. It was unbelievable how much and how little things had changed.

Kyle and Christophe came to a stop and Stan and Kenny paused with them. Kyle gave them both as reassuring of a smile as he could muster, knowing how much was on the line between them all. Stan smirked, leaning in and whispering, "The wallabies will never take us."

Kyle nearly snorted in laughter, covering his mouth and forcing his chuckles down, waving the two of them off. Kenny winked at the redhead and he nodded, watching the two of them walk off towards their own positioning as he crouched down with Christophe and army crawled to the front of their section behind a large berry bush. Tophe looked at him confusedly, "Wallabies?"

He just shook his head and laughed softly. "The greatest battle to ever take place on this hill," he whispered. "Until today at least," his smile fell and he frowned, kneeling down and placing his rifle up to his shoulder, an itchy trigger finger rested behind the pull, rearing to go. Tophe followed suit, the tension between them unbearably thick. Every ounce of laughter was squeezed down into Kyle's boots, he refused to let one ounce of doubt cross over him as they knelt side-by-side. His own words rang in his ear, to not get cocky. A part of him couldn't help itself however. He knew his team, he knew that they could do it. However, they had never attempted this huge of a plan before because it was such a huge risk. One slight blunder didn't mean just one of them could be lost, it could be every single one of them. He forced down a nervous gulp, his toes cracking in his position. He flickered his eyes over, seeing Christophe grating his lip, obviously craving a cigarette as he tended to do when things started to get rough. Kyle couldn't say he wasn't right beside him in that.

He glanced at his watch by his face. Twenty seconds. His breathing became rapid before he forced it back down. Losing his cool was simply not an option. He ran through his gun training with Stan. Don't forget the recoil. Let the gun become a part of your body. Don't try to stop it from coming back onto you because you'll lose it. Relax and remember, it's stronger than anything on their body, so you'll win. That little tidbit Stan gave him filled him with renewed energy and he counted down the seconds until the assault from Cartman.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Muffled explosions broke in the crisp air, birds scattering through the woods behind them. Two more followed quickly thereafter in succession and Kyle took aim at a confused looking Rat's head through his scope. He quickly shot him down, watching as Christophe easily picked off the two of the man's comrades running to help the fallen Rat up. They held their breath, listening closely. One bang. Two...they nearly froze. Where was the third?! They looked at each other worriedly before flinching as the noise filled the air once again. They sighed in relief, stealing a glance at the bloody mess made at the foot of the building.

"All right, let's go," Kyle ordered, leading the charge down the steep hill. They each looked in opposite directions, guns still held tightly in their grasps. Each step threatened to slip them up and send them tumbling down the hill but they kept themselves taut and upright, speeding down and noticing Cartman making his way down his side as well. Kyle veered towards the side and Tophe followed closely behind, the three of them rendezvousing at the West wall in a puddle of spilled blood. Kyle looked down at the mess of the Rat's heads, grimacing at brain matter still wiggling about in their skulls. He shook himself out of his stupor and led the way, putting his gun on safety and strapped behind his back. He glanced around the corner, seeing two of the Rats downed in their stations, another further away from the building. He smirked. Bastard tried to run for help.

He slowly crept along the side towards the window, looking in through a break in the blinds inside. His green eyes scanned along, finding three men inside, playing cards at a table in the front. No weapons on any of them. Perfect.

He grinned a bit, looking back at the two beside him. "They don't have guns, so we're using knives. We don't wanna go deaf with the acoustics in there," he whispered. They nodded, placing their own rifles on safety and grabbing their hunting knives from their holsters. Kyle grabbed his own, a part of him sentimentally upset that it wasn't one of the ones he used to take down any of his recent victims. But it was no matter. This one was fresh and new, it was about to get its first taste of what it was capable of. He glanced again at the men, judging their sizes a bit for ease. "All right, I'll get the smallest guy in the middle," he whispered. "Cartman, you take the bigger one on the left, and Tophe you get the other one on the right, got it?"

"Got it," they said together.

He made way to the front door, standing up and glancing to see Craig's group and Stan and Kenny watching the area for strays. He nodded approvingly before placing his hand on the door handle and glancing at his counterparts. He counted down with the fingers on the handle, slamming it open and rushing inside, the two of them close behind.

The three Rats looked up and over in shock, seeing nothing but a furious redhead and two brunettes charging at them with set glares on their faces. Kyle was the first to make contact with his victim, slamming into him and sending him through the card table, the cheap wood splintering and falling down the middle at the force of their weights. Kyle snarled, that same bloodlust back in his emerald stare as he plunged his knife down into an unprotected throat.

Christophe easily grabbed his man and whirled him around, slashing through a tanned neck and watching him bleed out with a demented, hungry grin. Cartman's target was currently being held by his hair, a good few inches shorter than the heavyweight. Cartman stabbed without hesitation into the man's breastbone, grunting at the effort to maneuver his knife upwards through the body's stronghold. He finally managed to make it sail up towards his chin as smooth as butter, dropping him to the ground.

The three boys stood together, watching satisfactorily as each of their victims choked on a mess of blood and sobs. "Like stuck pigs," Christophe muttered as they all finally fell still, whipping out a cigarette and handing Kyle one as well. He lit them up and they all let out heavy sighs of relief. Kyle smiled a bit, realizing how _easy_ that all had been, how his nerves had tried to work up about this mission for nothing.

That thought quickly melted away as an angry yell broke out from behind him and a strong arm grabbed around his chest, a knife suddenly at his throat.

"Drop your weapons and I won't slash up Red here," the Rat snarled.

"Sheet," Christophe muttered, dropping his knife and slowly placing his rifle on the ground along with Cartman. They held up their hands and backed away from the two of them, watching Kyle carefully.

"Leggo!" Kyle yelled, backing his head away from the blade on his neck.

The man shook him, "You drop yours, too, Red," he spat. He paused. "Wait. You're that fuckin' kid the Commander wants so much," he scoffed in realization. "Oh, I'm gonna get a _nice_ promotion for bringing your scrawny ass back, you little fucker."

Kyle growled, letting his left hand fly up and back with his cigarette, slamming it into the soldier's exposed eye. The man let out a blood-curdling scream, losing his grip on Kyle. The redhead pivoted around and let his own blade fly into his throat, watching the man drop to his knees, pulling the knife out and throwing it to the side. He screamed all he could manage, his hands wrapping around his throat to stop the blood flow. Kyle's eyes widened, backing up from him, noticing his injured eye was practically a waterfall of tears, a hazel iris and pupil already looking scorched and milky surrounded by a fierce pink. The three of them stared in awe as the man fell to his side, convulsing and trying to fight his way up.

"Jesus Christ," Kyle muttered, grabbing Cartman's knife from the ground and walking over, kneeling next to the man. The Rat screeched at him angrily, reaching up and wrapping his fingers through Kyle's curls. The boy yelped, grabbing the man's hair back and slashing through his jugular as quickly and cleanly as he could manage. After a few more moments of convulsions, Kyle felt the tension of his roots go slack, a massive hand sliding off his head and falling limply onto the ground.

Christophe helped him to his feet and brushed him off, "Kyle, are you okay?" he asked seriously.

He nodded, placing his hand on his throat, noticing he had a thin slice in the skin from the blade. He sighed and shook his head, looking around the full warehouse. "Wow," he murmured, stepping over the bodies of the Rats and gazing at the arsenal before them. One side filled with supplies to keep the Rats happy: Food and blankets, books and hygiene supplies. The other side filled with what they wanted most: Weapons of all shapes and sizes. Kyle grinned wildly, a glint passing through his eyes, his knowledge he'd picked up from a stolen weapons guidebook from the Rats years ago rearing its head once again as he headed over to a crate labeled '5.56 mm rounds, magazine (30 rd)'. "Awesome," he nodded approvingly. "Sparky is going to be very happy, this is an upgrade from his pathetic 20 round life," he chuckled.

"What else we got?" Cartman asked, glancing around.

Kyle made his way through the arsenal, licking his lips hungrily. "Looks like we have some M9 Bayonets, a couple M500's...a _shit ton_ of Berettas, holy shit," he gaped, staring at the huge collection of handguns against the wall.

"We 'ave a few different grenades over 'ere!" Christophe called out, holding a couple up for Kyle to see.

Kyle squinted, walking over and looking at them closely. "Well...this one with the pin is just a M67," he muttered. "But this..." he took the other one and held it carefully. "Holy shit, this is a fucking 433," he gaped. "Which means..." he handed it back over to Christophe gently and went through the section Christophe had found them in, sorting through metal and plastic alike. "Aha!" he cried out joyously, snaring two long guns out of the chaos, one looking like a wonky javelin and the other seated with a large chamber on its underside.

"Are those grenade launchers?" Cartman gaped.

Kyle nodded wildly, "An LMT Rail mounted for the one-hitters," he held it up pointedly. "And this little guy is the M32, we can shoot six grenades at those fuckers without so much as breaking a sweat..." he paused, looking at it with a cocked head.

"What iz wrong?" Tophe asked concernedly.

"Well...everything else in this room is Army-issued," he frowned, thinking over his weapons guide carefully. "But the M32...it's part of the Marine Corps. They're the only ones with the permission to use it for military conflict from the US."

"So?" Cartman cocked his brow.

"So...the commander told me they were a special sect of the government," he squinted quizzically. "I figured maybe they were just part of the army. But how the hell are they able to snag weapons from two branches of the military? That's not how it works...this doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe an exception was made?" Christophe shrugged.

"Maybe..." he mused, setting the launchers against a shelf and sighing. He looked around the room and nodded. "Either way, we have plenty of weapons, a ton of magazines, and first aid kits galore over there," he pointed towards the other end of the building. "We can fucking take these assholes down if we do this correctly."

"And just how is correctly?" Cartman questioned, crossing his arms. "You really need to start filling us in beforehand, Jewboy."

"Every time I did that in the past, you all got orders mixed up," he countered. "We take this one step at a time and we can more easily come out ahead."

"'e iz right," Tophe nodded. He glanced down at his watch, "Eet is 4:14."

"Excellent," Kyle grinned. He walked up towards the front of the building and peeked out the window, seeing a crowd heading towards the center. "Looks like they recruited pretty well," he nodded in approval. He opened the doors, Stan and Kenny heading from their position to meet him at the front.

"Tweek ran up and told us they got _every_ kid!" Ken said excitedly.

"One problem, though," Stan said awkwardly.

The pure glee in Kyle's chest died at his tone. He knew his best friend way too well to let that slip by. "What?"

"They...uh...they don't know _why_ they're here," he winced.

"Aw fuck," Kyle scoffed. "Well, since we have them all, maybe we can convince them of what we need, hm?" The three of them split to the sides, letting kids file in. Stan and Kenny watched Kyle scanning over each of them, knowing that he was mentally preparing groups to split them all into for whatever he had knocking around his mind.

"You think we can?" Kenny asked vaguely over the heads of the kids. Kyle nodded, a gleam in his eye. The two standing opposite of him found comfort in that gleam, knowing that his wheels were turning.

They watched for awhile until the line came to an end, Bebe, Wendy, Rebecca, Butters, and Tweek bringing up the rear. "Number?" Kyle asked.

"About 540," Wendy informed him.

Kyle sighed, shaking his head. "Jesus, they decimated our numbers. It used to be well over 1,500..." he bit his lip, looking at the group inside. "Looks like most of them are 12 and older?"

Bebe nodded, "A few straggling younger kids here and there but yes."

"Well that gives us somewhat of an advantage I guess," he muttered. He glanced up to Clyde, Craig, and Token, signaling for them to stay in their positions before walking into the building with the other following close behind. They could all hear the confused murmurings of the children, the sounds of awe at the fully stocked facility.

Kyle heaved a heavy sigh, making his way through the crowd to the front of the room. He walked over to a table littered with papers and pushed them aside, hopping onto the sturdy wood and glancing around, taking notice of all that he could. These kids looked weak. Weak, tired, and hungry. He frowned. This was _definitely_ a long shot. His head shot up at the sound of the door opening and closing from Stan and Kenny, Ike and Gregory quickly maneuvering their way towards him. They thrust up a wad of papers to him and he grinned, "Thanks you two. There was no way in hell I could have carried this shit on the field," he chuckled. He opened his blueprints and scanned over them, nodding to himself as they watched in interest.

"You got a plan worked out, Ky?" Ike asked.

He shrugged, "As good of one as any of us can throw out now." He smiled at him sadly before looking up, motioning at Stan and Ken to stay at the door as lookouts. Christophe and Cartman came to the other side of him, standing next to Ike and Gregory on the floor and looking out at the crowd.

"Do you z'hink we 'ave a chance, Kyle?" Tophe murmured.

"There's _always_ a chance," he said firmly before looking back out at the crowd. "Cartman, do that annoying whistle thing you can do," he directed.

Cartman rolled his eyes, placing two fingers in his mouth and letting out an ear-shrilling whistle. All the kids groaned and looked towards the front of the room, directing their attention to the lanky redhead towering above them.

"Kids, you know us," Kyle started loudly, gesturing to his team. "We are the resistance team who's been fighting against the Rats these last two years, the only reason that any of you here have been saved from their gunfire. Well now, we need your help." He paused, watching faces contorting in confusion and worry. "The Rats are planning a full-out cleansing of South Park," he said firmly. "Remember how our parents, older and younger siblings, our aunts, uncles, grandparents, how _everyone_ was dropping one by one?" He saw a few nods and pressed on, "Well now they're targeting _us_. It's not going to be your parents this time, it's going to be your best friend. It's going to be your girlfriend or boyfriend. Guys, it's going to be _all_ of you."

"How do you know?" a kid spoke up from the front, crossing his arms and glaring at the boy before him.

"Because I was captured by the Rats," he glowered. "I was told their plans. They're not bluffing. We've all watched them shooting down kids for fun. Now they want to wipe us all out. They've already taken nearly 1,000 of us kids down, well I say we don't give them one more!"

"What can we do?" an older girl raised her brow.

"We fight," he set his eyes firmly. "Look around you," he gestured out around the facility. "We have the weapons, we have the numbers. We outnumber those bastards by nearly 250 people. If we work together, we can take them down, we can stop this war and we can tear down that fucking wall that's kept us like prisoners for two years!"

Another boy stepped forward skeptically, "You've been fighting them for two years, why are they just now wanting to do this?"

"Kid, it's a _long_ fucking story," he growled. "And we don't have time for me to tell you a goddamn epic. I need you to listen to me and listen to me _very_ carefully," he paused and his lips curled in frustration. "You have two choices here and _only_ two: Either you die a coward, or you fight. You fucking stand by us and fight and have a chance to get out into the world once again. If you don't, then you're going to be shot down just like your parents."

The kids all looked around at each other confusedly, soft mutterings echoing around the room. "But we've never fought!" a voice cried out from the crowd.

Kyle glanced at his watch and frowned. "We have two and a half hours to show you how to properly use your weapons. It won't be much, but it's what we have as of now." He saw the skepticism still reeling on their faces and he glanced past the crowd to Stan and Kenny. They both motioned for him to keep going and his eyes sparked a bit.

"You know..." he started. "I...learned something today," he bit his lip, looking to see he caught their attention once more. He certainly hadn't been on this end of that line in a long time, but with those words, it came flowing back to him, memories of his childhood flashing before him in a picturesque song. "I learned that the needs of the many indeed outweigh the needs of the few. However, there's times when the needs of the many can only thrive when that few stand up for their cause and lead the masses into the thrall. _I_ am the few, and I am telling you right now that if you listen to me, I will get you out of here. I will make sure that your parents look down on you with fucking pride because you will have fought tooth and nail to get out, to succeed where they failed. I learned today that _none_ of us can fight this battle alone, as is true with so many battles we face in our lives. We're fucking South Park and those bastards have no fucking idea just what it is our town is capable of! So I ask you to realize that only with our help can we become what we once were, can we stand up and take back our town, and can we end a war that's spiraled so far out of our control. Any of you brave enough to realize our cause will lead you to the outside of that wall, stay and fight with us. Any of you that still believe that the coward's way out if the best route, then I suggest you march your fucking ass out of here and stand in front of the firing squad without us. Now, who the fuck is with me?!" he shouted.

The kids all seemed to spark to life at once, erupting in a cheer that the group had heard from the adults of their lives on so many occasions. Kyle looked over the crowd with a smirk, leaning down as Ike pulled on his pant leg.

"The fuck is up with this town and its love of speeches?" Ike snorted.

Kyle shrugged and chuckled, ruffling his dark hair. "Must be a hereditary thing." He straightened back up, winking at Stan and Kenny who were beaming proudly across the way. He held up his hands to quiet the kids down and his face fell back into its steely gaze. "All right," he grabbed his blueprint from his waistband and looked over the crowd. "Here's the rules for this fight:" he said firmly. "One, you are to listen to me without question, do you understand? I don't have time to get into any debates with you. I know the Rats better than they do half the time and we're going to take advantage of that. Two: Mercy is _not_ an option. I don't give a fuck if you find a Rat that's legless and has fucking lung cancer and is hooked up to an oxygen tank. You shoot that fucker where he sits and make damn sure he doesn't hobble back up. This isn't a mission just to run past them, we're going to wipe them out, is that clear?" he watched heads nodding briskly in unison and nodded back curtly. "Good."

He glanced at his watch again and growled, knowing every second was precious at that point. He had to work quickly. "I'm going to split you into groups," he announced. "Anyone from the ages of seven to nine, go over to the right side of the room by the medical supplies," he pointed. "Wendy, Bebe, and Rebecca, you're going to teach them how to be the med team on the field." The girls all nodded, heading over to the area. He watched as a group of about fifty made their way over with them. "Okay, ages 10 through 12 I want you over in the weaponry by the bayonets," he gestured. "Christophe, I want you to show them how to slash a man in the back of the knees," he directed.

Tophe grinned devilishly, "Brutal, I love eet," he winked. "Come, kids. We shall put your small bodies to use, oui?"

"Find a better way to phrase that, Tophe," Kyle scoffed a bit before turning back to the crowd. "Ages 13 to 15, go over to that wall of handguns," he nodded. "Ken!" he called out to the back. "Show them how to load the magazines and shoot..." he paused. "Make sure that the damn magazines are empty before you actually pull the trigger this time!"

Kenny pouted. "I know my goddamn gun safety, Kyle. You gave me a fuckin' quiz," he winked playfully. "All righty, kids. Let's show ya how to be badass."

"This isn't fucking 'Die Hard', Dickhole!" he lectured. "Show them how to conserve!" He shook his head as Kenny waved dismissively. "Okay, 16 through 17..." he bit his lip. "Actually, sixteen year olds, head over to that section of grenades," Kyle directed. "Seventeen I want you over with the M500 shotguns. Any kids remaining are to go to the assault rifles," he looked up at his best friend. "Stan, can you handle teaching two guns at once?"

"No problem," he smirked.

"Sparky's got some 30 round magazines in a crate," he smiled. "We're playing heavy this time around."

"Sweet," Stan nodded approvingly.

"All right, teach the M16s and the M500s," he nodded, watching Stan saunter off to his sections.

He looked down at Cartman left staring at him expectantly and sighed. "Cartman, I'm so going to regret this, but the grenade launcher is yours."

Amber eyes burst with excitement. "Really?!" he squeaked before coughing and nodding. "Yeah, yeah I figured. Only _I_ with my masterful aim could-"

"Save it," he bit. He hopped off the table and stood in front of him, a domineering force against him despite being nearly five inches shorter and about half the size of the boy. "Look, you're going to teach the sixteen year olds grenade safety, all right?" he quirked his brow. "I'll give you a rundown of how the launcher works. Make _damn_ sure you handle those fuckers with care or you'll kill us all in here, capiche?"

He scoffed, "I think I know how to be careful, Jewrat."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't call me a fucking Jew _rat_ ," he hissed. "You wanna call me Jewboy or something go right the fuck ahead but don't you attach that bullshit onto me."

Cartman raised his hands defensively, "Sorry, Princess, Jesus." He backed away slowly from the fiery redhead and made his way towards his own squadron.

Kyle sighed in aggravation and threw his prints on the table, scanning over them with Gregory and Ike, Tweek and Butters watching curiously. "What do we do now, Kyle?" Gregory asked softly.

"I plan out where each team is going to be stationed, find a way to concoct how to get all the Rats in one place for the final assault..." he paused and sighed, his eyes drooping tiredly. "And I get myself ready for my own assignment."

"Your assignment?" Ike cocked his brow.

He looked at his little brother and smiled sadly, ruffling his hair once more. "I have to get ready for a business meeting."


	14. The Catalyst

Solemnly, the group of fifteen walked side-by-side down what was once Main Street. Eyes flickered towards the decayed ruins of what were once thriving business, homes, places that made South Park what it once was. It was a disgrace to see it lying in such chaos. Boarded windows, crumbling brick, climbing foliage; it was nothing more than a reminder of what had become of them: Their own personal Apocalypse. As many times as they had snuck down this street in the hopes of scrounging up food or supplies, none of them had ever taken the time to notice just what a mere two years had done to their town. There was too much at stake to go sight seeing. Now they knew that they were at the thrall of the final showdown, the one that determined whether or not they could _keep_ it as their town. Last looks were a prevalent idea amongst the team.

"You are sure about zhis, Kyle?" Christophe murmured from the other side of Kenny at the redhead.

He nodded, "Everyone should be in position. All we can do is hope the commander is willing to cooperate with me."

Stan placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly, "He will. If you're that important to him, he'll bend." Kyle remained silent but nodded, his heart going a mile a minute. He knew everything was once again resting on him. He had a lot to accomplish, a lot of talking smoothly that he would have to somehow manage under the immense pressure of it all. Usually, such a task wouldn't have bothered him so much, but this was on a whole new level that was racking his nerves furiously.

They came within sight of the main building, each of them tensing as they noticed the large blockade of Rats staring at them, Peter at the front grinning brilliantly at the redhead. "All of you...be careful," Kyle muttered. The team looked at him and he bit his lip, knowing that all fourteen of their lives rested on this moment going the way he planned. He could only hope that he wasn't leading them straight to their execution.

"Mr. Broflovski!" Peter called out, nodding in approval. "You're five minutes early! I enjoy it when my soldiers are so punctual."

Kyle growled under his breath and stopped his walk, his team stopping with him about twenty feet from the mass of men before them. Forest eyes scanned over the enemy and he licked his lips. "All right, here's the deal," he called out to the man. He gestured his arms out towards the side at his teammates. "This is my entire team. I brought them _all_ along to show you that I am not going to be pulling any funny business. I expect the same treatment from you as well."

"But of course," the man smiled.

"Then I'm going to kindly ask that your men lie their guns down over there," he pointed towards the woods adjacent to the front of the building. "You may frisk the lot of us if you suspect us to be carrying any weapons, but I assure you, we are not. We want this to be a negotiation, not a bloodbath."

Peter paused, glancing down the line in front of him and nodding subtly. He looked back at his team. "Fifteen of you, walk over and check them. The rest of you, comply with Mr. Broflovski's wishes and lie your rifles down."

The Rats looked at each other suspiciously, knowing better than to question the man standing before them aloud. A group towards the front set off towards the kids, their guns strapped to their backs. Each teen spread their arms and legs as they were approached, allowing callused hands to pat over their combat uniforms without uttering the barest of discontented sounds. Kyle's eyes flickered to Stan and Kenny's on either side of him, reminding them not to lose their cool, knowing that this was going according to Kyle's plan and to stick it out.

"Clean!" the Rat frisking Craig shouted. A chorus of echoes followed as each Rat completed their task, backing away from the group towards their own.

"Excellent," Peter nodded. "Put your weapons with the rest," he instructed his men. They slowly made their way over, still eyeing the resistance hesitantly as they placed their rifles into the grass. Peter waited for them to rejoin the group before smiling once more at Kyle. "All right, how is that?"

"Thank you," he said, feeling nauseated from having to utter those words to the enemy. He cleared his throat. "Let me ask you, Peter, how much of your team is here in front of us?"

"All but fifty and a couple strays hanging around as guards," he quirked his brow amusedly. He jerked his head to the main building, "The group of fifty are running paperwork that needs filled by tonight. I wanted the men to know just who it is they'd be working for," he pointed at the redhead. "They need to know that despite your age, you will be leading their forces."

"Hm," Kyle mused, nodding a bit and looking around at the team before him. "If you recall, Peter, I explicitly said I wouldn't speak business with you until I was given a written contract of your promise."

"But of course," he bowed theatrically, raising his finger and jerking it forward. A pencil-thin man with tortoise-shell glasses came up beside him, brandishing a piece of paper before the rebellion.

"The commander believed to have _you_ give the terms of the contract to be in everybody's best interest," the man said meekly.

Kyle smirked, crossing his arms and jutting his hip to the side. "Man, you _really_ want me with ya, dontcha Pete?"

The man grinned and nodded, "That I do." He turned towards his team, pointing to two members. "You two, go get us that table in the front lobby, hm?" he nodded. They hurried and ran off into the main building to do as requested, looking back at the opposition. "I feel as though you brought your friends for more than just my reassurance, Kyle."

He nodded softly. "Indeed I did. If I'm joining your team, they are, too," he gestured towards either side of himself. "These fourteen are the best fielders, runners, intel, and nurses you could ask for. I believe it's only fair. I get to keep my friends, and you get extra reinforcements."

Peter's brows raised, surprised. "I'm shocked that they would be so comfortable with joining the very team they've worked so long to dismantle."

"They're not," he said placidly. "But we're a team. If one of us goes, the others follow. You think _you_ need my leadership? These guys have been the ones working under me, they _know_ they need me," he scoffed.

"Oh really?" Peter chuckled.

"Eet iz true," Christophe replied cooly. "Kyle iz ze only one of us who can figure out 'ow to survive. Eef 'e goes, ze rest of us will not know what to do."

"Ah, the mercenary," Peter nodded approvingly. "I will say having you on the team would be a nice benefit."

"He's the one who trained _me,_ " Kyle raised his brow. "If he can take a scrawny 100 pound nerd and make him into something that Vivification wants, then he's obviously going to be an asset to you."

"And the rest?" Peter asked expectantly. "Don't get me wrong, I trust your judgement, Mr. Broflovski. But I like to know my workers before I sign them on."

He nodded, "Understandable, you're a thorough thinker like myself." He turned and walked to the end of the line, gesturing to a cluster. "These are Token, Clyde, and Craig," he introduced them. "These three have been on the field and are great with following directives and helping execute distractive measures." He continued down. "Wendy, Bebe, and Rebecca here are our nurses. They've done everything from putting on band-aids to digging a bullet out of my arm with a knife. They know their shit and will help your medical team immensely."

"Impressive," he nodded. "I do apologize you were injured as such."

"It was before you knew what I was capable of," he raised his brow. "Had this been two years ago, you would have just demanded to know why they missed my head."

Peter shrugged, "All about the main objective, Kyle."

"Hm," he growled to himself. "These are Tweek, Butters, Cartman, and Kenny," he gestured to the lot of them. "They ran our supply raids and were our runners. Except for Fatass here, he just planned them," he jerked his head back to Cartman.

"Fucking Jew," Cartman muttered.

The man snorted, "Well I can see you two aren't the best of friends. But good on you for making it through together to the end."

"Yeah, well, no one is allowed to kill Fatty here but me," Kyle established, smirking at Cartman and continuing down, ignoring the glare he received. "You know Christophe obviously," he waved at him dismissively. "This is Stan," he jerked his thumb towards his best friend. "Best goddamn shot with an M16 you fuckers have ever seen."

"Ah yes, I remember you," Peter raised his brow. "You took down a line of 20 men not three weeks ago."

"And I'd do it again if I had to," Stan challenged, crossing his arms firmly.

"Bloodlust, I like it," he smiled. "Impressive shooting for sure, if this all goes well, perhaps we'll have you be the firearm instructor."

"Happiest of days," Stan scoffed. He lessened his stance as Kyle touched his arm. He had to calm down, he'd blow it all if he was a bit too snarky. He shot the redhead and apologetic shrug and the boy grinned a little at him, patting his arm and hitting the end of the line.

"These are Gregory and Ike," he said. "They ran intel with me. If I do decide to join you, they will be working with me. Especially him," he placed a hand on Ike's shoulder.

"Ah, your adoptive brother?" he nodded.

"No. Just my brother," Kyle scowled. Ike made a face at the man and he chuckled.

"That's fine with me," he nodded. "I know both of you were excellent students, I can only imagine he's nearly as good as you are on the field."

"Maybe even better," Kyle squeezed Ike's shoulder, the lot of all of them looking as the two Rats came back with a table.

Peter scoffed, "Took you long enough, Men."

"Apologies, Commander," one saluted as they set it in front of him. "Had to remove paperwork and one of the office workers started yelling at us."

Peter snorted, "Henry?" they nodded. "Ah that little nerd," he shook his head, looking back at Kyle with a grin. "You'd like him, Kyle. He's very proud of his work just like you are."

"I do _my_ work out of necessity," he replied cooly. "Henry just couldn't get a job in an actual workforce."

Peter smirked. "Well, shall we?" he gestured to the paper on the table. Kyle took a deep breath, holding up his hand to stop his team from following him as he made his way to the center, staring across the table from the man. Those hazel eyes filled him to the brim with rage, but he pushed it down, retaining his calm demeanor.

"First thing's first," Kyle started. "If I join you, absolutely no kids from South Park are to be harmed..." he glared. "That includes your medic worker, Michael."

Peter blinked at him confusedly. "I'm sorry?"

"He grew up with us," he frowned. "I want him brought out to me. Now. I want him as part of _my_ team as another medic."

"His enlistment form said he was from Boulder," he quirked a brow.

"He lied," Kyle said simply. "He just didn't want to admit he was from here. But he was one of us, and I want him to _stay_ as one of us. I want him out here now."

Peter nodded slowly, turning back, "You," he pointed to a Rat, "Get the medic out of his holding cell and bring him out here. No need for cuffs or any of the sort."

"Sir, yes sir!" he saluted, walking off towards into the building to retrieve the boy.

"Thank you," Kyle nodded. "Second...I want you to tell me _exactly_ what happens once I sign this paper."

Peter chuckled, "Well, you and now I guess your little friends, will be transported to our home base. You'll be kept there for about a month, we'll get you re-trained for our side, and once you have demonstrated your loyalty to our cause, you'll be back with us on the field. You will be placed as lead general, only reporting to me, and your friends will go wherever you wish them to."

"Who's general now?" he raised his brow.

Peter chuckled lightly, "No one. You killed him in the hallway yesterday."

Kyle smirked back, "Oops. Guess you could say I'm more than competitive in the job market."

"Which is what we're looking for," he nodded. "Ruthless on _and_ off the field. It's something we require out of all our leaders."

Kyle just let out a deep breath. "What will happen to South Park?"

"We will leave," he shrugged. "We'll find a group to raise money to help re-open the town to the general population and rebuild it. It's the government, Kyle, we can do that very easily."

"I highly doubt with this country's deficit there's funding to build an entire town from the ground up," he said lowly.

Peter chuckled, "But you forget: South Park is a _failed_ government project. There's always money to cover up where the most powerful force in the country made a mistake."

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised at that," he rolled his eyes, watching the lawyer scribing their terms onto the contract. "Is there anything that you're hiding from me in the midst of this all, Peter?"

"Such as...?"

He crossed his arms and glared at him a bit. "I want to know if I sign this contract, what you're going to do with me and my team. Are we going to be treated as comrades of yours or are you going to cuff us and dose us up on Lorazepam?" he narrowed his eyes. "As you can fucking tell," he brandished his gauzed wrists, "I'm not willing to let my teammates go through that Hell."

"If you can prove to us your compliance, then no, you will be treated as the rest of our team is," he explained. "Mr. Broflovski, you were only treated so harshly because of your insistence on killing everyone."

He shrugged, "Can ya blame me?"

He snickered, "I suppose not..." he glanced over and smiled. "Ah, here's our little liar now."

Kyle looked over at Michael being walked towards the table, his brow raised. "Broflovski? The fuck are you doing?"

"Getting _all_ the South Park kids safe," he responded, grabbing his arm and ripping him from the Rat's grasp and putting him beside him. "You all right?" He nodded, watching him in confusion. "Good. Go stand with my team," he directed. "You're one of us now," he smirked. "Welcome to the conformists." Michael shook his head with a thinly-veiled grin, making his way towards the resistance.

"See, Kyle? I'm willing to bend," Peter nodded. "You just have to be willing to meet me halfway."

Kyle took a deep breath and nodded. "I don't see how using terrorism against me is 'bending' but I'll allow it."

"It's for everyone's benefit, Kyle."

"Except the parents of another town that you plan to slaughter."

"Sacrifices _have_ to be made for the greater good," he insisted. "You'll see once we get our country to the point where _no one_ will be willing to take us on."

He shook his head, "I told you, there will _always_ be a rebelling force, no matter how 'perfect' your ideals are. If I was King of the World, and said that every Tuesday was Free Pancake Day, I'd have an army of Waffle-sympathizers and Gluten-Free hippie fucktards trying to assassinate me for my 'evil ways'. You really think that a child army is going to earn you brownie points with other countries? Even our allies will think you've gone too far."

"Not once they see what we can do with such a force," he said softly. "Kyle, there are two options here for you: Either you join us and lead the army or you don't join and we kill off your town and _still_ have our army. You get to make the call."

Kyle looked at the contract, breaking into a cocky smirk and laughing softly. "Actually, Peter, there's a third option."

"Oh?" he cocked his brow.

Kenny's words rang through his mind and his devious grin grew wider. "I'm Kyle fucking Broflovski. There's _always_ a third option." He let Peter stare at him confusedly before screaming "NOW!"

The Rats darted their heads over in shock as a barrage of children darted from the woods, covered in dirt and leaves. Grubby hands quickly snared the Rat's guns, clicking off their safety's and pointing them at the war-hungry adversaries. They positioned themselves in a line, surrounding the Rats between themselves and the main building.

Peter looked at the boy with narrowed eyes and Kyle crossed his arms as the remaining open sides became filled with children as well. "Where did you-"

"You really _should_ keep a supply building better protected," he interjected amusedly. "Only thirteen men? Come now, Peter. _I_ never would have made such a critical error of judgement. No _wonder_ you need me so much."

"Sir? Orders?" A Rat urged, staring at a kid looking like they had a hell of an itchy trigger finger.

Peter let his eyes glance around at the thrall surrounding them, his lips in a grim line. "You disappoint me, Mr. Broflovski."

"Disappoint or impress?" he challenged.

He smirked a bit. "Both," he growled, grabbing Kyle's shirt and wrenching him forward, slamming him down into the table. "Hold him!" he directed towards a few of the Rats, letting four of them come over to flip over and secure the redhead down as he thrashed atop the maple furniture.

"LET GO!" he screamed. Peter frowned, grabbing his hair and yanking his head over the edge of the table, his neck resting on the sharp corner.

He looked at Kyle's team starting to advance and shook his head. "You come any closer, I snap his neck on the table," he warned. The group paused, looking at each other with conflicted eyes.

"GUYS JUST FUCKING ATTACK HIM FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" Kyle shouted, trying to twist out of each death-lock on his limbs.

"Non," Tophe said softly. "Let 'im go," he looked at the man firmly.

Peter rolled his eyes and glanced towards the kids, still staring at the Rats with their weapons ready to go. "Children, you do realize that this is pointless?" he said quietly. "If this boy here would have just agreed to go with us, we would have let you be."

"You killed our parents!" a kid screamed.

"You don't get to walk away from that!" Another joined.

He shrugged, twisting his fingers deeper into Kyle's hair and making him wince. "It was for _you_ , kids. It was so you'd grow strong."

"All you did was starve us and kill us off," An older girl said with narrowed eyes, pointing her gun at his face. "You tried to break us, not make us strong."

"One must be weak before they are strong," he smiled gently. "Look at this one," he nodded towards Kyle, pulling his hair down roughly and watching him grit his teeth in pain. "He said it himself. He was a scrawny 100 pound weakling. Now look at him," he glared. "Convinced an entire town to betray their government."

Kyle snarled up at him, "You _aren't_ our government! You were right, this _is_ fucking 'Lord of the Flies'. You took away our basic human rights, segregated us from the rest of our country. Well now we've established our own form of power, and we're not fond of a dictator trying to impede our rights, you son of a bitch!" he glanced towards the kids and narrowed his eyes. "Stan, go!"

Stan ran over towards the crowd, catching Sparky being thrown to him by one of his squadron and pointing it at Peter. "Here's the deal, Buddy," he snarled, taking slow steps around to get in front of him, Kyle watching him and grating his lip. "You let go of him, and I _won't_ shoot you through the fucking throat."

"Oh really?" he challenged.

"My bullets are faster than your hand, I can fucking guarantee it," he glowered. "All of you and your little buddies? You're going in the building," he flickered Sparky's barrel towards the Nest.

"Gonna lock us in and make a grand escape, are you?" he smirked.

"Would you rather that, or would you rather I let these kids use you all as target practice?" he glared.

"FUCK!" a scream from the back of the Rats broke through. Peter and the other Rats glanced, Kyle and Stan sharing a look with each other. Stan grunted, firing three quick shots into Kyle's holders, sending them down onto the ground. Kyle spat out their blood that sprayed into his mouth, contorting his body around and kicking the remaining holding his arm back into the crowd. He threw himself off the table, Peter snaring his arm. The redhead snarled, sending a quick fist into the man's nose. Peter released him, grabbing at his injured face as Kyle backed up beside of Stan.

"Grab him! NOW!" the man ordered.

"Anyone makes one _move_ towards him and I shoot them down," Stan promised, placing himself in front of the redhead. Kyle glanced over to their team, seeing only Cartman standing in place, waiting for his signal. Kyle motioned him back and the brunette darted through the wall of kids to get to his own objective.

"WE GOT MEN DOWN OVER HERE!" A Rat shouted, staring in horror at the back end of his team, maybe thirty throats slashed open and bleeding profusely onto the dirt. Soldiers twitched silently from the assault, reaching towards nothingness in the prayer of a miracle. A tap on his shoulder turned his attention to a very happily grinning Christophe.

"'ello, I am pest control," he smirked before stabbing the man down in place. "Keeds!" he shouted, "Back to ze guns!" He and his team of Bayonet-wielding children quickly shuffled back towards their better-armed counterparts, sliding in behind them to stop any Rats from coming for them. "Excellent job," he nodded approvingly. "We got a good deal of zhem." The kids smiled widely, blood caked over their tired faces in macabre masks. The Frenchman couldn't help his proud smile before turning back to watch the leaders duking it out from beyond the crowd.

"In the building, Peter," Kyle ordered from the center of the stand-off. "We outnumber you two to one at _least_.It's time for you to get the fuck out of South Park."

"Oh?" he lowered his hand from his face, his nose bleeding and his eyes brimming with a touch of madness. "What do you think will happen once you leave? You think that you're going to escape, Mr. Broflovski? We'll find you. We'll find you and make our decision on whether to kill you or not when the time comes."

"I'd rather die for my town than live for your mission," he said lowly, standing beside Stan firmly. "Into the building."

"Or. What?"

Kyle smirked. "Glad you asked." He turned to the kids and narrowed his eyes. "M500's, one round, go!" he shouted, himself and Stan ducking to the ground and covering their ears, watching a barrage of bullets begin flying into the mass of targets. The sound of cocking shotguns echoed into the stillness of the air before another set of bullets went flying. Kyle and Stan watched as Rats grabbed their arms or fell to the ground. Screams flew through the air above the sounds of the firings. Kyle couldn't help but grin at Peter's look of abject horror at the scene, huddled under the table and watching his team getting blown away. Another three rounds of shots went through before it all fell still, Kyle and Stan clambering back onto their feet.

"Hm," Kyle said, rubbing his ringing ears and grinning cockily. "Five shots times sixty kids gives us 300 shots," he glanced around at the carnage before them. Fallen Rats either stilled or screaming in anger and agony. Those unharmed knelt down beside their brothers, trying to stop the blood from rushing out of their comrades with their bare hands.

"You son of a bitch!" a Rat with a profusely bleeding shoulder screamed. "I _knew_ we shouldn't have tried to get a fuckin' kid like you in on the team!"

"Shut up, Reggie," Peter ordered. "Stand down and work on your wounds." The Rat angrily shut his mouth, clutching at the pain desperately, blood spurting through his fingers.

"Well, Peter, just from a quick glance I'd say there's about...150 of you left, give or take," Kyle shrugged. "I suggest you do as we say before we make it lower."

Peter glared at him, staring at the children surrounding them with cautious eyes. He looked to his army and snarled. "These are _children_!" he reminded them. "You can take them! Rush them and show them no mercy!"

"Ken, Craig, now!" Kyle shouted.

"C'mon kids!" Kenny's bright, wild smile broke through the crowd amongst his Beretta-wielding team. "Ky, Stan, Back off!" They tried to quickly retreat before Peter lunged forward, grabbing Kyle and sending him sprawling onto the ground, ducking as bullets hazed over their heads.

"Back off, Stan!" Kyle screamed as he was dragged under the gunfire. Stan watched helplessly, knowing full and well that the man was holding Kyle way too closely for him to able to take him out without hurting the redhead. He watched the man drag him under the table towards the Nest, Kyle kicking and lashing out at him all the way.

Kenny's sharp eyes picked up the flailing boy and he panicked, looking at Stan for an answer. The noirette was trying to find the right route to get through the gunfire, watching his best friend getting dragged towards that damnable building _again_.

"Ransom works, too," Peter growled at the thrashing boy. "You call off them and I let you out of here alive." Kyle shook his head furiously, baring his teeth and trying to break the hold by kicking out at him. He screeched, letting his head fly down and sinking his teeth into the man's arm, shaking his head around like a rabid dog and snarling. Peter let go of him, hissing and watching the blood rushing down his arm. Kyle broke off of him, looking at him with red-stained teeth showing prominently amongst his dirtied face. The sound of bullets whizzing around them seemed to still for a brief moment, both of them realizing simultaneously that only _one_ of them was going to make it out alive today.

And Kyle would be damned if it wasn't going to be him.

He quickly dove out of Peter's reach again, edging along the side of the building quickly towards the end Kenny's team was shooting from. He gulped as a bullet came dangerously close to his hand, spraying a bit of grass onto his skin. He grit his teeth, shuffling his legs faster towards them, kids noticing his efforts and turning their guns more towards the side, letting him have the clearance he needed to return to safety. Kyle said a silent, thankful prayer as he managed to make it through, two of them helping him up to his feet. He ran along the back of them, touching each of their shoulders and getting them to stop their assault.

"Kyle?" Ken asked, panting, his gun falling down to his side and taking his earplugs out. "Dude, are you okay?"

The redhead nodded, flickering his eyes back up to the Rats, their numbers dwindling still. "Jesus, there's still about eighty of them left," he murmured.

"These kids have never shot before," Ken shrugged. "The fact that they're hitting anything is a miracle."

Kyle sighed, watching Peter glaring at him from the middle of the ring. "Give _up,_ you fucker!" he demanded.

"We don't 'give up'," he hissed.

"All right, fine." He glared, looking up towards the back side of their team. "RUSH 'EM!" he shouted. The teams of rifles and shotguns quickly swarmed in together in a cluster, surrounding the remaining Rats threateningly.

"Get. In. The. Building," Stan hissed from the forefront. The men looked at each other, then down to their fallen comrades, then to Peter. Collectively, they raised their hands in defense, slowly making their way towards the doors.

"Remainder, surround the building!" Kyle screamed out, letting the handgun operatives run from the front and scatter themselves along every window around the threshold of the Nest, holding their guns towards them and ready for any potential escapees. Kyle looked at his teammates still left. "Token and Clyde, man the back! Craig, you take the East, Tophe, grab a M16 and stay at the west!" They all spread out to his commands, leaving himself and Kenny watching as the Rats were herded in, only Peter refusing to give way. His hazel gaze was entranced on the redhead shouting orders, his face still smeared with the man's blood.

"How have none of us gotten hit?" Kenny asked in wonder.

Kyle chuckled breathlessly, "Because. We're fucking South Park. Shit happens and we drive right on through it." He looked up and winked at the blonde, the both of them moving towards the last of the Rats being filed in. "You, too, _Commander,_ " Kyle mocked, staring Peter down stubbornly.

"I don't think so," he glared, stepping towards the redhead. Kenny went to raise his gun and Kyle stopped him. The man was at the end of his rope. He knew he was going to lose. He stopped in front of the boy, his eyes dangerously narrowed. "So. You have my men cornered. Now what? You can't all run if you're keeping them in there."

Kyle raised his brow, smiling. "Who said we were running?" Peter looked at him, befuddled. "Cartman!" Kyle looked out back towards the woods in front of the building and screamed. "Ready?!"

Cartman stepped out, his M32 preciously held in his hands as he set it on his shoulder, aiming towards the window into the front of the building. "Ready when you are, Jewboy!"

"TEAM, SCATTER!" Kyle screamed, all the kids running out from different directions far and wide behind hills. Stan, Ken, and Kyle ran over behind Cartman, leaving Peter behind looking at them in horror. "GO!" Kyle commanded.

Cartman gritted his teeth, letting his finger press on the trigger, jerking back with the heavy recoil bounding onto his bone. They watched the first grenade fly in through the glass, a heavy explosion breaking through a mere moment later. More glass from the rest of the building flew outwards, the clear sound of pained screams following.

"All six, Cartman!" Kyle shouted over the chaos. The brunette smiled devilishly, letting the remaining five rounds sail through various windows. The four in front watched with gleaming eyes as the building continued to rupture, each impact shaking the whole damn thing. Kyle smirked, backing up into the trees and grabbing his LMT and a special grenade he'd found before they left hidden in a padded bag under Cartman's ammo.

"The fuck is that?!" Stan shouted over the flurry of sounds.

"A Hellhound!" he grinned deviously, loading it onto his launcher and standing beside Cartman. "Get ready, this one will hurt!" he shouted, letting his finger pull back on the trigger. They each watched as the long missile set out towards the main window, sailing through smoothly and they waited. They all recoiled as a violent, massive explosion took out the western corner of the building, the stone beginning to topple down onto itself.

"Holy fucking shit!" Kenny screamed. A massive fireball spit out from the Nest. The four of them ran a bit deeper into the woods, huddled together as a cloud of dust and debris flew towards them, shielded only by each other and the massive evergreens before them. They clutched onto each other as the roaring heat of the fire seemed to follow them, each of them only praying that the rest of the kids had gotten far enough away per Kyle's commands.

The first wave finally died off and they dared to look at the carnage as a loud, crashing noise prevailed through the air. They got to their feet, walking back out towards the destruction as the Nest collapsed on top of itself, nothing but a pile of concrete and billowing fire.

"Holy..." Stan stared, his mouth agape.

"We actually..." Cartman blinked.

"We fucking did it!" Kenny finally broke out, jumping up and down and beaming. "Kyle, you fucking did it!" He wrapped his arm around Kyle's shoulder and shook him. The redhead stared at the twisted pile of rubble, the smoke billowing towards the evening sky. He gulped, unable to fully comprehend just what they had accomplished.

A hand on his shoulder spun him around and a fist flew into his face, his eye becoming blinded in the impact, sending him sprawling out onto the dirt. He looked up, wincing at the blood pouring down his face from scraping against debris on the ground, seeing Peter standing in front of him, panting, death raging through his eyes. He shook in pain, getting to his feet, the remaining three running over beside him. "You little fuck!" he spat. "Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?!"

Kyle panted, looking from the extreme heat behind him to the man in front of him and smirking. "Yeah. We fucking beat you, that's what. We're not part of your little experiment anymore. It's _over_."

Peter's glare slowly lessened and he stared at the redhead with unreadable eyes. "You really think so, huh?"

"Yeah," he wiped some blood from his cheek and cringed at the contact.

"Funny," he huffed, a small smirk over his face. "Our job, Mr. Broflovski, was to make children soldiers," he reminded him, stepping forward a bit. "Soldiers who would fight to the bitter end. Ones that would see bloodshed and think nothing of it, only satisfied with getting their man..." he bent down in Kyle's face, which fell at his words. "Looks to me like South Park was a success." He cocked his brow and raised back up, staring at the four of them satisfactorily. "I told you you would lead an army, Mr. Broflovski. You said you never would...but look at the suffering you've caused," he gestured to the wreckage behind them. "Look at all the lives you've taken."

"An eye for an eye," Stan said darkly. "You took more of us than we ever could have taken from you."

"Perhaps," he shrugged.

"No, no 'perhaps'," Cartman mocked. "We just survived. You were here for fun but we got our fucking freedom, you raging faggot."

"Hm, but look at what it cost you," he looked at Kyle and smirked. "Your _innocence._ " Kyle flinched at the word, staring at him through his good eye, green racked with overwhelming emotion.

"We lost our innocence when you killed our families," Kenny spat, baring his teeth. They all looked around as the kids started filing back towards them. All of them but Kyle and Peter, who couldn't tear their eyes off of one another's.

Peter chuckled at the redhead's lost expression. "Hm. Well. You've defeated us, sure. Definitely got your revenge. Locked on your target. Didn't stop until they were dead. A _noble_ cause, to be sure," he grinned slyly. Kyle bit his lip, his eyes flickering to every angry face locked on Peter's. Every bloodstained gun and face staring with nothing but lust to make him pay for his sin.

He took a deep, shuddery breath and shook his head subtly. He reached over and grabbed Kenny's Beretta out of his hand, cocking it and holding it to Peter's forehead, who just smiled at him knowingly. Kyle grit his teeth, letting the trigger fly back and the recoil send his arm into a violent shock. They watched the blood spray across his face, his victim falling to the ground in a silent heap. Copper filled the air, every child looking at Kyle as he stared down at his last kill. For the first time, words couldn't come to him, there was nothing to be said about what he'd just done. He could feel Kenny and Stan placing their hands on his shoulders in comfort, but paid them no mind.

His dull eyes drifted up into the lavender-soaked twilight, smoke pulsing against it like a ruthless song. The blood dripping down his face and neck clung to him like dust, light and arid, musty and unsettling. He didn't feel them at first, hadn't noticed the slightest change as lukewarm tears began to run down him as well, co-mingling with the blood into a pink stream. He let loose a sob, falling weakly down to his knees and refusing to let his head drop down to the man who lay dead at his feet. Various voices called out to him, tried to hold him, but he couldn't be bothered to pay the slightest bit of attention.

Silence fell over them as they watched their fearless leader convulsing in sobs, none of them having the slightest idea of how to proceed. Finally, an unspoken resolve settled amongst the tense crowd. Nothing filled the air but the sound of a crackling fire, and Kyle's morbid mourning.


	15. The Messenger

Watching the Nest range from an inferno down into smoldering ashes, the children stayed silent. The original resistance huddled together, arms wrapped around each other's backs, hands being held. This was the end of their era, and they were more than aware of that fact. Hours passed into the darkness of night, the glow of their spoils beaming angrily onto chilled faces. The remaining Rats had all came running at the sounds and had been swiftly dealt with until no one remained but those who belonged.

By the time it was nothing but a few flickering embers spewing from the carnage, a group of nearly one hundred wordlessly stalked to and from the Community Center, bringing a mess of blankets and pillows and lying them down onto Main Street. The rest of the group followed thereafter, and the children of South Park fell asleep together, a bundle of bodies lying in togetherness for the first time in what seemed to be an eternity. Huddled together for warmth, few tears were shed, no words were spoken. They weren't needed. They all knew well enough that those could wait for the morning.

Stan, Kenny, Kyle, and Cartman fell asleep cuddled up next to one another, clinging to the others for dear life. They knew the risks that they'd taken, and they knew the fact that they'd walked out without a single casualty on their side was beyond their wildest hopes and dreams. Ike and Kyle held hands above their heads, both of them staring up into the sky before drifting off, seeing the stars glittering above them in a manner they hadn't seen since they were young. It was as though the universe rearranged itself for them, as though it _knew_ that somewhere on Earth, there were people who needed a new start. For once, it was able to oblige.

Kyle was the first to wake as sun barely crept over their tangle, barely getting a wink of sleep. He unwound himself from Stan and Kenny's arms, hesitantly letting go of Ike's fingers curled loosely around his own. He unsteadily made his way through the pack underneath him, brushing blood-stained bangs from his face and grimacing. It wasn't over. He _knew_ it wasn't. The next steps they would take would be critical. Maybe just as dangerous as what he'd led the kids out to do. He made his way through the thrall and looked over at the children still lying there. He felt more tears spring from his eyes, quickly wiping them away, wincing as he hit over his blackened one. It was just another painful reminder. It would heal, unlike the bullet wound in his arm, unlike the wounds of so many children he'd been unable to save. Unlike so many Rats that he'd led the extermination of.

He shuddered, making his way through the town, staring at the ground listlessly. Things were going to be different. He didn't know if they could start anew. He didn't know if they could turn the town back into what it once was. He'd made those promises to those kids. He told them he'd hold their hand and lead them back to the point where their parents would be so proud of them. But would they have been? He could never say for sure.

He came to the edge of town, at the large towering gate that the Rats used to transport people and cargo to and from their home. He sighed, raising a large bar used to hold it in place and grabbing a key from a hidden hook on the underside of the wood. He genially unlocked the gate, vaguely wondering if someone would be on the other side just to shoot him down. It certainly wouldn't surprise him. The one Rat who'd been determined to keep him alive was gone now. He was out of advantages.

He managed to get the gate open, slowly swinging it open to the outskirts of town and feeling his chest tighten. He could see it. The edge. The edge of the world was there, just out of his reach, the sun glistening as it crested over the fringe. Lilac and rose clouds greeted him, warm golden underbellies coasting along the sky as smooth as the tide. He took a deep breath, stepping outside of the gate, his arms flying up and crossing, rubbing up and down them anxiously. He glanced around, seeing not a soul in sight and wondering just how that was possible. How does a town completely vanish off the map? How were there no reporters? No protesters? How did the world just _forget_?

He looked back up at the sky and gulped, staring at a particularly elongated periwinkle cloud and biting his lip. "Mom, Dad?" he whispered. "What do I do now?" He felt the weight of his actions sinking down into him. Every plan he made, every fire he set, every throat he cut, every man he shot. Everything was piling on top of him at once. It was no longer a linear path, there was no end goal in his sight now. He was lost. He was that frightened little boy who found his mother dead in the driveway, bleeding onto her grocery bags. He couldn't help but wonder if she would have be proud of him for leading so many kids to their freedom. Or perhaps she would have scolded him, calling him a monster for finding such a destructive way to reach his goal. Perhaps the end never truly justified the means. He could never be sure.

"Ky?" a soft voice called. He turned, finding Ike watching him curiously. He stepped up beside him and looked up at his older brother with a concerned face. "What is it?"

He blinked down at him, turning his attention back to the horizon. "Whaddya think they woulda said?"

Ike frowned and took a deep breath, following his stare, his brown eyes glittering in wonder. "I think they would have been proud of us."

"How do you figure?"

He shrugged, shoving his dirtied hands into his pockets. "Because they always told us to fight for what was right. And we fought tooth and nail. I think...they watched us all this time. I think _all_ the parents did. And...and they saw that we tried to worm our way out, but eventually we hit our breaking point. They wouldn't have blamed us for what we did."

Kyle let his words soak into his skin, slowly wrapping his arm around his brother's shoulder and pulling him in close. "Thanks," he whispered. Ike smiled sadly, wrapping his own arm around Kyle's waist and holding him tightly.

As dawn began to break over the bodies sprawled over the street, light reflecting the true horrors of their deeds splashed across shades of skin, eyes opened with a dull beam about them. Kenny couldn't help but be reminded of the Pit, it was nothing but lifeless eyes and blood soaked children. But the warmth that surrounded him was enough to sate him, to know that this wasn't another failure; this was their victory, somber as it was.

The two outside the gate could hear distant murmurings of kids beginning to stir, of the world beginning anew once more. The brothers glanced around at the wall, staring out towards the beauty of the sunrise back into the decrepit mess that had become their town. But between the two of them, the end of their story was clear enough. Between them all, it didn't need a moment's discussion.

As the Nest fell, so would the rest of the town. It would rise from the ashes with time and patience, the very things that their parents had instilled in them all so very long ago.

Kyle could see Peter's last snide grin so clearly etched in his mind, but he knew that it was moot. The man thought that he'd won, that he'd turn the children of South Park into nothing but blood-thirsty killers. The redhead knew better. Despite the fact that they had awoken soaked with blood, despite the very clear stench of burning bodies still wafting in the air around them, they all knew what would become of them.

Vengeance never brought them together. Instead, the lessons that they'd been taught so well by their elders had followed them into the heat of the battle. Fighting for each other, not for blood, is what would keep them from falling apart. Together, the kids of the town would tear down their wall of isolation, they would rebuild the foundations of what made them who they were. Despite the destruction, despite the very clear notion that it all rejuvenated from wanton desolation...they would take pride in it. They would love it as they had so long ago. After all, they all knew well enough that it would always be South Park. It would _always_ be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, especially considering one: There's no slash and that's taboo in this fandom apparently 
> 
> And two: This story's been done since May. Of 2015. I forgot to upload it here whoopsie pft
> 
> But thank you nonetheless!


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